


Just a Number

by Ranowa



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Dark, Depression, Heavy Angst, M/M, Roy is Angst, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2018-09-21 07:18:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 82,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9537623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ranowa/pseuds/Ranowa
Summary: Roy vanishes without a trace. Six months later, while arresting a gang of sex traffickers, Maes finds a broken man who refuses to so much as respond to his own name.(Chapter 12: missing scene, between chapters 5 and 6)





	1. Prologue

The raid went quickly.

In Maes’ opinion, even the ten minutes it took to clear out the disgusting warehouse of the sex traffickers were too many; they weren’t worth more than the seconds it would take to crush them like bugs underfoot.

Like any man, he had no patience for sex offenders, but now that he had a wife and daughter, the very thought of just being in the room with such a bastard made his blood boil.

He stuck to handcuffing and not-so-accidentally kicking the criminals along with most of the other soldiers, the handling of the enslaved girls entirely left to female officers. He, along with everyone else, just wanted to get the hell out of this place, and moved as quickly as possible. The place reeked of blood and urine, suffering and death; that, and the fact that he could still very easily still hear those poor girls sobbing no matter how hard he tried to block it out...

He just wanted out of here.

But, as seemed so very typical of his luck as of late, the moment he’d hustled the last of his bastards into the back of a car, he was stopped from leaving.

“Lieutenant Colonel Hughes! Lieutenant Colonel Hughes, sir!”

The urgency in those words signaled yet another extension to what was already an unbearably long night.

He sighed through gritted teeth, rubbing his temples to forestall the oncoming headache as he turned back towards the warehouse once again, scanning the sea of military blue. A young, female private whose name he’d already forgetting was extricating herself from the mess and hurrying over to him, pale-faced and nervous.

“Private,” he greeted tiredly, not even trying for a smile. “At ease,” he told her before the salute was even fully up, gesturing for her to get on with it.

“Sir.” She lowered her hand and glanced uncertainly back towards the warehouse turned brothel. “Sir, I know your orders were for the women to handle the surviving victims, but... but there’s one...”

“Speak clearly,” he ordered, rubbing at the headache again. He just wanted to go home and hold Gracia.

The shaken private jumped. “W-well, one of the survivors- we’ve been trying, but he won’t let anyone touch him at all-“

“Wait.” Maes stopped her with a raised hand, his stomach churning. _“Him?_ A man?”

The woman looked even more uncomfortable at that and averted her eyes to the ground, appearing almost ill. “Yes, sir,” she answered, her voice a weak whisper. “Most are women but... but there are a few...”

 _God._ He looked away as well, taking a moment to collect himself. “I... I see. Then, what’s the problem, Private?”

“Oh, well, like I said, sir, he won’t let anyone touch him, and we don’t want to force him- he appears to be injured rather badly. We... we don’t know how to proceed, sir.”

Maes sighed heavily through his nose, giving one last venomous glare towards the monster in his car before signaling for another officer to take the wheel, heading back towards that hellhole. The _how to proceed_ was very simple; if the man needed medical attention badly and was resisting, standard procedure was to sedate him. There were many paramedics still on scene, seeing to the dozens of victims. It wouldn’t be pleasant, and he could understand the private’s hesitancy to so bluntly approach a man who’d been through the unthinkable- but it was just how things had to go.

But, looking at her wide, wet eyes, seeing just how shaken she clearly was, and Maes decided he could take responsibility for this one.

She’d come face to face with more human pain tonight than should ever exist. He could lead on from here.

Going back into the warehouse gave an instant reflex of revulsion and disgust. Maes had to stop himself from covering his nose at the smell and faltered at the door, hesitating on the edge of the darkness and squinting into the dank space. Most of the girls had been freed by now, those that could walk being guided towards an exit, those that could not being transported on stretchers or the arms of an officer, and he looked away from the terrified, trembling crowd quite quickly, turning instead towards the back wall where they’d first been chained. He could just make out the shape of a pale body curled against a corner, skin so white it was glaring in the darkness, and he sighed, steeling himself.

“Medic,” Maes called brusquely. The nearest pair turned to him, and he pointed towards the survivor. “Condition?”

The paramedic sighed. “Not great. Bruising’s pretty bad. Since we can’t give him a physical exam, can’t be sure, but we’re guessing broken bones. Back’s torn up and will need stitches, but the blood loss isn’t bad enough to have him in serious danger, yet. We need to get him to a hospital soon, though; if he goes into shock, in his condition I’m not so sure we can keep him alive.”

Maes sighed again reluctantly. “He’ll be John Doe, for now, then. Sedate him. Hopefully he’ll be more lucid at the hospital, when he wakes up.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll fetch the supplies now.”

The paramedic backed away immediately, retreating back out of the warehouse- Maes couldn’t help but be a little jealous- and now, aside from a few stragglers, he was left alone in the hellhole.

Him and the last remaining prisoner, of course.

Maes swallowed, tasting horror. He looked hesitantly towards the pale, slumped figure again, and the young private still trying to get through to him. His feet brought him closer, even as his gut churned again; he couldn’t stop himself from peering over man, looking in some dark, morbid sort of sickened curiosity.

He saw the young private reach out towards the man again; her touch was slow and entirely innocent, gentle, but it garnered a violent cringe before she’d even touched him. The man shrunk away and cried out, turning his head even more severely away and body curling tighter. _“GET AWAY!”_ he screamed, voice hoarse and cracking in terror but so loud Maes jumped.

The private backed away obediently, raising her hands in the universal gesture of peace- not that the man was looking at her to see them- but Maes paused. He stood still for a moment and looked even harder at the crumpled figure. His _voice...?_

“Sir,” the private said quietly, kneeling several feet back and clearly trying to look as non-threatening as possible. “Sir, we’re the police. We’re not going to hurt you; we’re here to get you out of here. Can you tell me your name, sir? Is there someone we can call for you-“

 _“NO!”_ he screamed again, jerking away so violently his head smacked painfully against the wall. “No, no, no, no, I don’t have a name. I’m not important, I don’t have a name, I don’t have a name, I’m not important enough to have a name.” He twisted a little further away, burying his head against the wall, long, tangled black hair crusted to his cheek with blood and hiding his face from them. “5572. That’s my number. Ask Master. That’s me. That’s all I am. 5572.”

Maes’ world stopped turning.

His voice...

His _voice...!_

_Oh my god, no-_

_Nonononono-_

He stared harder at the man, heart pounding so fast he almost got sick on the floor. He looked at the deathly white skin, so colorless the man had to be naturally pale. He looked at the black hair, to the man’s shoulders now but suddenly he could see it cropped militarily short. He looked past the rainbows of bruises, the blood and grime, to squint and just barely, on an emaciated stomach, find the scar from a familiar bullet wound.

His heart plummeted straight to his feet and shriveled up into a tiny, throbbing lump.

_No..._

“R... _Roy?!”_


	2. Don't Call Me That

It was him.

He wouldn’t admit it. Simply saying his name got more trembling, more violent shaking of his head, mumbled gasps of _no, no, no, not my name, not my name, no..._ but Maes was sure of it now.

It was _him._

Somewhere underneath the stunned, repulsed horror and the sick terror was relief. He was sure of it. It was there _somewhere._ After six months missing, they’d given up all hope of finding him alive, and to stumble upon him like _this,_ so accidentally, so inexplicably, was simply unbelievable in its incongruity. So, he was sure he _was_ relieved, somewhere.

He didn’t feel relieved at all.

He felt like he was going to throw up.

Hurried footsteps from behind him got his attention, and Maes shifted a little, turning so he was still crouched directly in front of Roy, his arms held out protectively. He only vaguely recognized the paramedic from before- and the sight of the syringe in his hand made him remember just what he had sent the medic to do.

Instantly, horror flared.

“No!” he gasped, crouched painfully on his knees in front of the prisoner and keeping his hands out, almost terrified. “No, wait! Don’t do that! Don’t do that to him! Stop! _”_

The paramedic looked at him doubtfully, glancing down towards the syringe in his hand and then peering past him to Roy. “...Sir, you requested-“

“I know what I requested, but it’s different now! He’s- please, I know him, I can calm him down, just- just don’t touch him with that. That’s an order! Keep away from him- no one touch him, understand?!”

Because it was one thing to order the paramedics to sedate a faceless, unknown man, knowing it was what was best for him- even as the man begged to not be touched or hurt.

It was quite another, when it was Roy.

The paramedics glanced uncertainly at each other, but did not approach further; Maes gestured for them and everyone else to back up and then did so himself, moving back a few inches even as he turned back to face his friend, worried they were crowding him. “Roy,” he whispered, very cautiously holding out a hand. “Roy, it’s okay. Just you and me, all right? Is that okay?”

The man pressed himself even harder against the wall, face still turned away. “Don’t call me that.”

What had been meant to be a demand came out as a plaintive, begged request, voice wavering dangerously, and Maes had to stop himself from giving into his shuddering heart and just throwing his arms around him. He needed to calm Roy down, not scare him even worse than he already was. “Why not?” he asked gently instead, still holding his hand out. “It’s your name. Come on, buddy... come on, just look at me, please...”

Roy jerked, head raising at the command. He followed the order even as he pulled away even further, turning just enough for one eye to meet his, wide in terror and staring through a ragged clump of black hair.

No recognition flickered there. None at all.

There was only terror, and that made him ache down to his heart.

“Roy...” he whispered, voice trembling. “Roy, it’s going to be all right. It’s just me...” He tried to reach out a hand but froze when the man flinched, heart in hist throat. “Roy, please... it’s okay... it’s only me. We’re not going to hurt you, I promise.”

Roy’s eye shuttered in a frantic blink and he remained curled against the wall, unmoving and terrified. Feeling almost as if he was going to vomit, Maes very slowly lowered himself further to the ground and stayed back several feet, again warring with the impulse to pull him into an embrace and just never let him go. “Roy, buddy, we’re here to help you. Do you understand that? We’re here to take you home. Come on, are you listening to me? We’re going to get you some help, Roy, but I promise, I’m not going to let anyone here touch you unless you say it’s okay. ...Roy?”

The colonel stiffened, the fear glimmering in his eye overrunning as desperate tears. He turned his head a little more, staring at him in tearful uncertainty. “...You can’t help me,” he whispered at last, voice torn and so terrified it hurt to hear. “No one can. He’ll know. He’ll punish me. Just... just go. _Please._ ”

He sounded so hopeless, so _defeated_ , even with the bastards that had done this to him all already taken away- and for a moment his blood boiled and he saw red, because suddenly he wanted to stomp to his feet, take out his gun, and execute those monsters all here and now- but instead Maes found himself faltering, his breath shuddering.

He still thought he was being held prisoner... he didn’t even _realize_ he was safe...

“Roy,” he said quietly, holding out his hand again. The man flinched again but the cringe was less violent than before, and he kept going, fingers still extended. “Do you trust me?”

Roy pulled away again. “I don’t even _know_ you,” he hissed, eyes burning with just a sliver of the colonel that was his best friend. The first slice of _Roy_ he had seen since finding him on the floor of this hell.

In the same breath as his best friend looking at him and swearing he didn’t know, it was almost too much to take.

“...Roy...” he breathed, almost choking on terror. “...It’s _me._ M- Maes.”

The breath left him like he’d just been kicked in the chest. The colonel lifted his head more and at last turned to face him fully, and this time when their eyes locked, it was as if he really _saw_ him for the first time. A rainbow of emotions streamed through wide eyes; shock, confusion, terror, desperation, and finally disbelief so real it hurt to witness.

“...M...Maes?” he gasped, voice barely even a whisper. “... _Maes?”_

He sounded as if he did not even believe it, and the investigator forced himself to smile, nodding gently and still holding his hand out. “Yeah, buddy. It’s me.”

For many seconds straight, Roy just stared at him. It was clear the man didn’t know what to believe, or how to react, and that the shock of suddenly finding his best friend sitting across from him in this nightmare when he’d already given up all hope seemed to have almost been too much for him. The colonel just _looked_ at him, mouth open, wet eyes blank, his chest heaving with each breath.

“H... how?” he asked finally, voice wretched and weak. “I... _how?”_

“...We’re here to get you home, Roy,” he promised again, sure he wasn’t asking logistics but instead just completely baffled by his presence here. “You’re going to get out of here, okay? You’re safe now, Roy... I promise.”

The colonel didn’t react at all, still staring at him blankly as if he just couldn’t believe it. Slowly, his heart in his throat, Maes lowered his hand to point at the iron shackles around his ankles, his eyes never leaving Roy’s. “What do you say we get these off you, huh? We’ve got a metal alchemist here. He can do it for you.”

Roy blinked slowly, looking down to his restraints as if he’d just remembered they were there. “A metal alchemist...” he mumbled, voice dry and cracking, and Maes waved for someone to bring him a bottle of water. “...Ed?”

Maes bit his lip and shook his head. “Sorry, no. This one’s just a sergeant who knows a little alchemy.”

Instantly, his words got another violent shake of his head, and Roy pulled back towards the wall again, curling his legs underneath him; even with his arms still strung up above him he was clearly trying to make himself as small as possible. “No. No. I don’t want to. I- I don’t... Maes... he’ll... he’ll hurt me.”

The last words were whispered even softer, like it was a secret, just between the two of them, and his heart fell even further. Maes took the water from the returning officer then glanced over his shoulder, muttering for her to get everyone to back off even further. Without waiting to see if his command would be followed, he turned back to Roy, very slowly inching himself forward again.

“No. He won’t, Roy. I won’t let him.”

Roy flinched suddenly. He looked away from him, bowing his head and curling up even tighter into himself. “Don’t,” he whispered, voice cracking.

“...Don’t what?”

Roy withered back, still refusing to look at him. “...Don’t call me that,” he croaked at last. “Don’t... call me R... _that.”_

Maes stilled, staring at him uncertainly, each pained word feeling as if it were driving shards of glass straight through his heart. “Why not?” he finally managed, trembling, but Roy didn’t even attempt to answer or look at him, and after several moments, he swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. “Okay, R... buddy. I won’t.”

Now was not the time to press this.

Now, he just needed to get Roy out of here.

When his friend didn’t react again, Maes moved a little closer once more. He was now close enough to touch Roy, and he did extend his hand a little further towards the skittish colonel, stopping before he actually made contact and holding still, allowing his friend to watch him. “Is it okay if I call the metal alchemist over here?” he asked gently, and Roy flinched violently again but did not reply. “Hey. Hey, look at me.” He waited for nervous, terrified black eyes to meet his, and pulled together the closest thing to a smile he could make. “I’ll be with you the whole time, just like this. If he does anything you don’t like just tell me, and I’ll make him stop. You have my word.”

His friend pulled away another inch, trembling violently against the wall. “No,” he barely managed to get out, the word wrenched in some sort of frantic gasp. “No- c-can’t trust h-h-him- I c-can’t, Maes-“

“You don’t have to trust him. Just trust me, R- buddy.” He paused for a moment, watching with great sorrow and pain as his friend’s chest heaved with fright, and very carefully let his hand come to rest against his knee. “You’re safe now, buddy, I promise. No one here is going to hurt you. I’m with you, okay? Nothing’s going to happen. Not now.”

The colonel still looked extremely hesitant, not to mention unwilling, but he didn’t say anything to the negative. Still cautious, Maes slowly went for the thin blanket one of the female officers earlier must’ve tried to give him; like all of the other prisoners, Roy had been robbed of all of his clothes, chained naked and bare against the wall in a line like animals in a slaughterhouse. Still taking care not to startle his friend, he let the blanket fall over his lower half. It pooled against his navel, somehow drawing attention to his emaciated ribcage and legs so thin they were like sticks, but Maes swallowed his fury and continued to meet Roy’s eyes, doing his best to make sure none of the anger bled through.

“I’m going to ask the metal alchemist to come over here, now,” he said softly, holding his friend’s gaze. “If you want him to stop, just say so. He will- I’ll be here with you the whole time, to make sure he does. I promise.”

Roy closed his eyes tightly, shoulders trembling, but right now Maes was looking beyond his best friend’s terror and he kept on seeing injuries- he kept on remembering the paramedics words from earlier, that if he went into shock out here there was no going back.

He was not losing Roy again.

Slowly, the metal alchemist approached, following the instruction in hidden in Maes’ glare to be as slow as possible. He may not have been Ed, but he’d already freed the other prisoners in this room; he knew the transmutation circle to draw, and he did it quickly, leaning over Roy to scratch it into his metal restraints with a pencil.

He heard the colonel whimper, in fear and in pain, and the noise made his heart clench.

“He’s almost done. You’re doing great; he’s almost... oh, Roy...”

Maes had looked towards the still bound hands as he’d spoken, intended to focus on the alchemist’s progress, but what he saw there stopped him in his tracks. The other prisoners that he’d seen had all been simply handcuffed to the wall- however, this was not the case with Roy. His wrists were encased tightly in iron manacles that heavily restricted his hand movements- and Maes didn’t have to ask to know that these bastards had known Roy was dangerous with his hands, and tried to prevent him from having even enough freedom in his fingers to draw circles.

The manacles had probably been a preemptive strike. What had horrified him so much- the broken, bruised, swelling fingers, all five on each hand- was probably punishment for somehow managing to draw a circle anyway.

“Oh...” he moaned again, staring at the misshapen, limp fingers, “Your... your hands...”

The alchemist finished the next moment, and, as if the manacles had been the only thing holding them up, his arms fell. Roy blinked at the sight of his mangled hands in his lap, looking at them with an unsure, befuddled stare as if he honestly was not sure what to do with them.

Both his wrists were worn raw, oozing from where metal had been pressed against skin. One looked broken. Both looked painful.

“...I can’t feel them,” Roy murmured quietly, and he slowly raised one arm only for the hand to hang limply at the wrist. “...I can’t feel my hands, Maes.”

He didn’t sound frightened or scared. He just sounded numb.

It made his heart ache again.

And Maes wanted to take those thin, beaten hands into his; start rubbing on the pale arms to try and get some bloodflow back into them- god knew how long those manacles had clamped around his wrists, far too tight- but the wounds that extended at least halfway up his forearm stopped him. “That’ll go away,” he promised instead, and cautiously lowered a hand to his elbow. It was cold and bony under his grip and his gut churned.

He could feel Roy’s pulse pounding away, much too hard and fast, unsteady and uneven,so rather than give him the minutes he deserved, he tried to meet dead, frightened eyes again. “Can he take care of the ones on your feet now?”

Roy turned his head away, squeezing his eyes shut. It was a terrified cringe and he looked as if he wanted nothing more than to get as far away from them all as possible, but he didn’t say anything, just bit his lip and whimpered. Holding true to his word, Maes lifted a hand to keep the metal alchemist from getting to work again and gave him several moments before speaking again, his voice low and hushed. “It’ll be quick, I promise. And it’ll be just like before; I’ll stay next to you the whole time. I’ve got you. It’s going to be all right, buddy... shh...” He let the hold at his elbow become a very gentle caress, stroking up and down his skeletal bicep. Roy shuddered under his touch, cold skin erupting in a trail of gooseflesh, but he didn’t pull away, so Maes didn’t, either.

“Come on...” he cajoled gently, trying very hard to keep the terror out of his voice. “You’re doing so well; just give us a little bit more. _Please;_ I know you can. I know you can do this.”

He didn’t want to. That much was obvious.

But he clearly knew he needed to, and so, very tremulously, he tilted his head in another terrified nod.

It took almost more than Maes had to give, to let that pass as permission and wave the alchemist forward again.

Roy cried out the moment the alchemist made contact, flinching again, and jerking away from them both to hug himself, head bowed and shoulders trembling. _“Please...”_ he mumbled, and the anguished, broken begging nearly broke his heart. _“Please, don’t... don’t do this to me... just stop, please...”_

_I’ll kill them. I will kill every last one of those monsters that did this to you, Roy. I’ll kill them all._

“You’re doing great,” he murmured over the pleas, his own voice shuddering in the bloody air. “You’re doing really great, Roy. He’s almost done. That’s it; he’s almost done. I know you’re scared, buddy; just a little longer.”

When the shackles finally dissolved, his ankles were shown to be even worse than his bony wrists, and Maes couldn’t help but wonder how many weeks it had been since that skin had seen air.

The alchemist retreated, his work now done, but it was as if his friend didn’t even notice. He bowed his head still, shoulders quaking with the force of the small, hitched sobs, eyes squeezed shut against whatever horror that existed only in his own mind. Heartbroken, Maes pushed himself just a little bit closer, not wanting to crowd him but at the same time desperate to reach him and pull him out of his terror. “He’s gone now, Roy. He’s done. See, I knew you could do it. It’s over now; he’s done. You’re okay... shh, shh...”

Another sob choked its way out and Maes nearly threw his arm around him right then and there, only stopping himself due to the blood on his back. He desperately just wanted to take Roy into his arms and hold him, hold him tightly enough to absorb all his fear and pain and protect him from the world, but he couldn’t and instead, Roy just kept sobbing.

“I’m s-sorry,” he gasped, voice high-pitched and stricken. “I don’t even know w-what’s w-w- _wrong_ with me... I should be _happy..._ but I j-just-“ Another sob interrupted him and he just shook his head, giving up on speech entirely and curling into himself, tears streaming down his cheeks.

Part of Maes loathed himself for speaking up still. Right now, Roy deserved patience. He deserved all the time in the world and then some; not someone sitting there, hurrying him along, trying to move on before he was truly ready. He deserved to be able to break down now, had every right to be scared, terrified, of everyone else in the world and Maes knew that not letting it happen now would set things up to be even worse later- but right now, he was trying to just make sure that there _wa_ s a later. Roy was too badly hurt and he _would not_ let him die now- even if it meant looking at his crying, terrified best friend and forcing him to move before he was ready.

“Come on, buddy,” he whispered, heart breaking. “Let’s get you out of here.”

Another sob shuddered through his thin back, but the colonel had clearly heard him. He breathed in as deep as he could, tears still drawing breaths from him in anguished gasps, and curled in a little tighter on himself, seeming to be trying to get a firmer grip on himself even though he was clearly still terrified. For a few moments, he just sat there, huddled up into a small ball against the cold stone, staring blankly down at his mangled, unbearably thin limbs. He looked like he almost was not sure what to do now that he was free, like it had been so many months since he’d not been chained up that he didn’t know how to react now that he was safe, and that was heartbreaking, too.

“I don’t think I can stand,” he stammered after several long, painful seconds. He shifted his thin legs on the grimy warehouse floor; his feet were just as limp as his hands.

Maes bit his lip. He was tempted to just carry Roy- god knew he was light enough for him to do it easily, no problem, and it was very clear the colonel didn’t anyone else at all near him right now- but his thin back was shredded and torn, blood weeping over the ruined skin from neck to waist. There was so much of it he couldn’t even see the original injuries, but he knew they had to be bad, and he also knew there was no way he could pick Roy up like that.

So instead, he steeled himself for the resistance that was to come and kept his hand on Roy’s arm, gentle but unrelenting. “It’s okay. You don’t have to. There are some paramedics here who’ll take you to the hospital. See?” He pointed to them, and at being addressed, the two medics come forward again, now baring a stretcher between them.

But Roy just flinched away again at the sight, curling up even tighter now that he had at least some freedom of movement in his arms and legs. “No,” he whispered, and his head trembled in a violent shake, “no, no... don’t make me go with them, Maes, please... please, I don’t want to go...”

The wretched pleas ripped his heart to shreds.

“I’m sorry... you _need_ to, buddy,” he rasped miserably, wishing with everything that he had that he could just take the man home. After everything he’d been through, surely he deserved at least that much. “You’re in bad shape. Come on, I know you’re in pain...” he tried, stroking his arm again gently. “They’ll be able to help you with that...”

“I don’t want to go... I want to go home... I don’t want to go...”

His resolve nearly shattered right then and there. “I know, buddy, I know... but you have to.” His voice broke then and he still made himself continue on, trying desperately to do anything he could to make this even a little more tolerable for him. “It’ll be all right. I promise; I’ll stay with you the whole time, just like now. You won’t be alone... I won’t leave you.” Again he stroked his arm, thumb trailing in the wake of a shudder, throat constricting after a broken whimper. “You’re safe now. I promise... no one’s going to hurt you anymore.”

But he was still trembling badly when the cautious paramedics approached him, and he jerked away when they lowered the stretcher to the ground next to him. “No!” he cried brokenly, eyes lit with terror, “no, no, no, _don’t-“_

“Back off,” Maes snapped in warning, sliding between them without a single doubt. “Back away from him _now.”_

Without even waiting to see if his orders would be followed- because god help them, if they knew what was good for them they _would_ back away- he turned back to Roy, keeping one hand stroking along his arm. “They’re not going to hurt you,” he promised, even as his voice broke. “I promise. I’ve got you, okay... you’re safe now.”

No matter what assurances he gave, they were only words; just a step above worthless. Roy still wouldn’t let the paramedics so much as touch him, even after several minutes, and his condition only continued to deteriorate; finally, Maes had to coax him into moving with him even when he could tell his friend really wasn’t ready. He helped Roy lie on his side on the stretcher, trying to stay in his line of sight or keep a hand on him at all times, and he stayed next to him as they started to wheel him out of the warehouse, murmuring impossible assurances of safety that he couldn’t imagine helped. Roy’s wide, frightened eyes darted constantly away from him, trailing over the many officers, most of whom were looking at him, and he curled up even tighter than before, drawing his arms around himself and whimpering.

Maes grabbed the extra blanket from the foot of the stretcher and bit back the shouted order to quit staring all in the same breath.

He tucked it firmly around Roy’s shoulders, hiding his battered, starved body from all those still staring. He looked even smaller under the two blankets, so fragile all it would take was a gust of wind to blow him to dust, and his heart clenched again.

Taking him outside of the warehouse was even worse; Roy was so overwhelmed by the flashing lights and crowd that he just shut his eyes instantly, and Maes wasn’t sure the man could even hear the comforts he tried to murmur or feel the hand rubbing hard on his shoulder. He didn’t improve in the ambulance, either, keeping his eyes shut and moaning in fright when one of the medics adjusted an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth as if expecting the quick, gentle touches to turn into blows.

Quietly, one of the paramedics took him aside, his eyes guarded and expression grave. “Lieutenant Colonel,” he said, keeping his voice low enough that Roy wouldn’t be able to hear, “I know you’re reluctant, but it really is best for him if we sedate him now. He’s going to need examinations and intensive treatment when he gets to the hospital and I really don’t think his condition is good enough for them to wait while you calm him down. This way, he’ll be able to get the treatment he needs quickly and he’ll stay relaxed.”

Maes knew he was right, no matter how much he disliked the reality of it. He made himself nod, feeling sick to his stomach, and returned to Roy’s side, putting his hand back on his shoulder again. “Hey,” he murmured, trying to get his attention as the medic cautiously took his arm and began to feed an IV line into his thin wrist. “Buddy, they’re giving you something that’ll help you sleep, okay? Is that okay with you?”

Black eyes shot open in terror again, and he tried to pull his arm away from the paramedic but was just too thin and weak to escape his grip. “No,” he begged, stare boring into him like a dagger piercing his heart. “No, Maes, please! Please don’t let them! I- I can’t-...”

Tears came to his eyes before he could blink them back, the anguished pleading ripping him to shreds. “Don’t worry,” he choked out. “Don’t worry, buddy; it’s going to be okay. I’ll stay with you the whole time. I’ll be right there when you wake up. I promise.”

But the man curled up even tighter, another broken whimper tearing out when the needle was inserted into his arm. It was as if Maes’ words didn’t even affect him- like he couldn’t even _hear_ them. “No,” he pleaded, “no... don’t do this to me... don’t do this to me...” The light in his eyes started to fade as the drug swept him under almost immediately, but burnished terror did not fade with it. “Please, don’t... don’t... stop it...”

“Roy,” he pleaded, heartbroken, “I ...I’m so sorry...”

Dark, frightened eyes flickered shut, and as Roy’s body fell limp, one thin hand lifted off the gurney to reach for him.

“Maes,” he moaned, “please. Help... me...”

Then terrified features fell slack, and the cold, pale hand fell on top of his own.

Something in Maes broke, then.

And slowly, tremulously, Maes lifted the still hand of his friend upwards, stared at the mangled fingers for a moment, then pressed it again his brow, shut his eyes, and tried not to burst into tears.


	3. Kill Me

Somehow, Roy looked even worse now than he had before.

Perhaps it was the painful, harsh lights of the hospital, and the way they met his almost grey skin. Perhaps it was the way the hospital gown left exposed so many more injuries than it hid. Perhaps it was the way he was dwarfed in his hospital bed, buried beneath the sheets and looking small enough to be a beaten child. Perhaps it was the way his face, gaunt, pale, and hollow, looked like that of a starved corpse, so much so he could barely even recognize his best friend lying there before him, and only knew him to be alive at all from the slow, weak rise and fall of his chest.

 Whatever it was, Maes hated it.

But then again, he was also alive, and a part of him had long ago given up on ever seeing his best friend alive again. 

...Somehow, that did very, very little to comfort him now, looking down at his best friend, broken, abused, destroyed, but still _alive._

It- it really wasn’t that bad, he tried miserably to tell himself. He wasn’t dead. He’d had worse. Some broken ribs, that wasn’t bad. Probably gotten worse in basic training. That wouldn’t kill him. Broken wrist. That was nothing. His little girl had broken hers the year before, tripping on the playground, and had adored the pink cast so much they’d ended up saving it once it was cut off. He could take that. It wasn’t bad.

Maes’ chest clenched again, and he let his gaze wonder down Roy’s arm, traveling past the stiff white cast to his bruised hands. Each and every finger broken, probably multiple times, all bandaged and splinted. Surely excruciating. He’d... Maes swallowed, trying very hard to keep himself steady. No, it was fine. It was okay. Never had a man been killed by a broken finger before. He’d- he’d be fine-

At least two were going to be amputated. Broken too badly to ever heal.

At _least_ two.

His stomach flipped anxiously, and he bowed his head in misery, finding himself bringing up the blanket over his destroyed hands just so he wouldn’t have to look at them anymore.

But even with the blanket over his hands, he could still see the gauze taped over his best friend’s back, patches visible underneath the collar and shoulders, and he groaned again, squeezing his eyes shut. There was just nowhere safe to look. Every inch of him was beaten and abused.

Yet even as bad as the rest of him was, his back may’ve been the worst of it, and Maes had absolutely no desire to see it.

Nearly a hundred stitches, all told. Inlaid over what was already a mess of scarring. According to the doctor, in a pattern that matched whip lashes.

When Maes had heard that, he’d had to briefly walk away to collect himself, lest he scream right in the doctor’s face. And punch a wall so hard he nearly broke a knuckle.

And somehow... that wasn’t even the worst of it.

On the back of his neck, barely visible underneath his too long hair, were burn scars.

Scars, in the design of a tattoo.

The tattoo of a number: 5572.

The doctor, Ackerman, hadn’t known what it meant. He’d tentatively asked Maes, if he did. Spoken it hesitantly, even more hesitantly than he’d told him of he damage caused by the sexual abuse, like he could guess just what this number was and why it was there but hadn’t actually let himself believe that anything so perverse could be real- that he hadn’t _wanted_ to hear Maes say it aloud and confirm it for him.

Maes hadn’t told him, in the end. Hadn’t been able to stomach it himself. But he knew. He knew what the number was there for.

He’d been branded like an animal- marked as nothing more than those bastard’s _property._

Grief slipped into him again and he curled in on himself, burying his head in his hands. Yeah, sure, he wasn’t dead. Thirty pounds underweight, nearly starved to death, an almost thirty year old man the size of a teenager. Beaten and scarred. Fingers already marked for amputation. Marked as just... an _object_ , an item to be used and sold.

But he wasn’t dead.

Another swell of anger flared in him and he moaned, rubbing his face with a trembling hand. And then, after all of that- after _everything_ that he’d suffered- after _everything_ that Roy had endured- that god damn doctor had had the gall, to tack on one last insult: _we’ll be having one of our psychiatrists come in to speak with him before we release him, sir. It’s standard procedure, in sexual assault cases._

For a startling, horrifying moment, Maes had had to battle the urge to burst out laughing at him. Sexual assault?

That did not even _begin_ to cover what had happened to Roy. And what was the hospital’s answer- a psychiatrist? Oh, Roy would hate it. Hate it, laugh at it, ridicule, mock it... and Maes found himself inclined to do the same right now. Roy had been held captive by these monsters for six months. He was so shattered and empty he didn’t want to even hear his own _name._

A single session with a damn hospital shrink was not going to cover it.

 _But he’s still alive, Maes,_ he pressed to himself again, looking hesitantly back at his best friend and covering his mouth with one hand. And after six months of fearing otherwise, after at least the past several weeks of him actually starting to _believe_ otherwise- right now Maes felt like he was tumbling in a tumultuous storm of emotion, caught nauseatingly between grief so acute he wanted to scream and relief so profound it made his head spin.

All he wanted was for his best friend to be okay again.

The sound of the hospital room door made him twitch, exhausted and frayed nerves sending him for his knife even as he turned, only relaxing when he saw it was Roy’s doctor again, accompanied by a nurse. Breathing out heavily, Maes just stood and walked away, heading across the room to let them work in relative privacy. He was fairly sure whatever stitches they were going to clean or wounds they were going to bandage was not something he wanted to see, ever. He was having a hard enough time keeping himself focused on the positives as it was; if he kept staring at the unbelievable damage his best friend had suffered, eventually he was going to lose it.

 _Maybe I should update Hawkeye again,_ he thought mournfully, running a hand through his hair. Or Gracia. After all, once Roy finally slept off the sedative and woke up, Maes doubted he’d be able to convince himself it was worth it to drag himself away just for a few phone calls...

He did end up heading just down the hall to the pay phone, updating his wife, then his best friend’s adjutant, still feeling rather surreal about the whole thing. He could tell that they did, as well. Hawkeye, all the way out in East City, already had a ticket for the first train to leave the next morning. She’d been stunned to get the call earlier telling her the colonel was actually alive, and even further stunned when Maes had somehow stumbled through an explanation of just _where_ they’d found him. Back then, everything she’d stammered back at him had been hesitant, shocked with disbelief.

Now, several hours, by the sound of her voice alone, so quiet and subdued, he almost wanted to say she’d been crying.

Well. It wasn’t as if he could blame her.

The phone calls ended up not at all taking as much time as he’d hoped, and Maes sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets as he headed back off down the hallway. If they were still working, he supposed he could always go get a refill on his coffee, if he could still stomach it... it was going to be a very long night. Or maybe he could-

His thoughts were shattered by a scream.

Long, high pitched, piercing- and coming directly from Roy’s room.

His heart startled into a panicked rhythm, and Maes jerked into a sprint without so much as a thought. The tortured, wrenching howl rose even higher as he threw himself at the door, terror and righteous anger squirming inside him as protective instincts surged. What the hell were they _doing_ to him?! He never should’ve left-

The sight waiting for him when he flung the door open shut his mind off, and paralyzed him into stunned, devastated horror.

Ackerman and the nurse from before, still there, bandages and bloodied gauze abandoned to stand over the colonel instead and pin him down. For a moment that was all he could see, their hands pushing him back as he writhed and he opened his mouth to scream at them to **_get the hell out_** _-_ but then his focus expanded, and he could actually see what Roy was doing.

Roy was sprawled on his side, unbroken arm curled around the metal railing of his bed. He held himself there with it, screaming and sobbing violently-

As he smashed his head into it.

Over and over and over again... and screaming the whole while.

When the metal finally broke skin and blood spattered, horror shocked him out of stillness and he _ran._

 _“Roy!”_ he gasped, elbowing the doctor aside on instinct alone to grab onto his arm himself and trying to dislodge it. “Roy, stop! _Stop!_ Oh my god, what are you doing- you’re _hurting_ yourself, Roy, stop it! _Roy!”_ When his efforts weren’t enough to stop him, Maes threw both his arms around Roy and yanked the colonel upright, pinning his arms to his side, terrified the colonel would knock himself out if left free. “Roy!” he pleaded, shaking him as roughly as he dared, trying to get him to focus. _“Roy!_ Roy, come on! _ROY!”_

But his best friend only thrashed and screamed against him, trembling in terror in his grip and now throwing his head forward against his chest as hard as he could- clearly still trying to injure himself. It was like an animal caught in a trap; mindless, writhing in tortured agony, desperate for any avenue to freedom there was even if it meant chewing his own leg off to get it- his gut churned, sorrow and anguish swimming through him at the sight. Horrified, Maes shifted his grip, one hand gripping the back of Roy’s head to hold it still, the other arm still holding him to him in a crushing embrace. “Damn it, Roy, _stop!_ It’s just me- it’s _Maes,_ Roy! You’re safe now _...”_

But he might as well have been talking at a brick wall, for all the affect his words had.

When Roy finally realized he could no longer continue in self-mutilation, he went perfectly still, trembling in his grasp in terrified, pale agony. Maes didn’t dare release him, but he did look down a little, trying to catch his eye.

The sheer fear burning in haunted, black depths pierced him through like a rusted blade.

“...Roy?” he ventured cautiously, voice on the verge of breaking. “Roy? Buddy, can you hear me? ...Roy?”

There was nothing.

Nothing.

Until...

_“AHHH! AHHH! AHHH! AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!”_

Maes gasped. The bloodcurdling, earsplitting _scream_ tore through him in trembling agony and left him frantically adjusting his hold on the colonel, terrified he was hurting him- but no matter what he did, Roy just kept screaming. The blood he’d managed to burst out of his forehead trailed down his gaunt, skeletal face in three horrible lines, trickling over bruises and new scars, pooling in the corner of his mouth, and he gave it no heed. Just kept _screaming_ as the scarlet continued to drip down to stain his teeth. 

“Roy! _Roy!_ God, Roy, please... please just listen to me...”

_“AHHHHH! AAAAAHAHHHHHHHH! AHHHHH!”_

_“Roy!”_ he begged desperately, heart threatening to shatter. “Roy, _please!”_

 _“KILL ME! KILL ME!_ **_KILL ME!”_ **

His world froze.

“R... Roy...”

 _“Kill me,”_ the delusional, hysterical man ranted, shouting, “ _kill me, kill me, kill me, kill me, kill me, kill- ... k-kill... m...”_

When black eyes fluttered weakly, lack of coherency becoming lethargy, terror remaining terror, Maes leaned back, thinking for a moment it was how hard he’d hit his head. Leaning back, though, only revealed Ackerman, panting, standing on the other side of Roy’s bed, the IV line in one hand, and an empty syringe in the other.

_“K-kill... me...”_

And just as quickly as he had found consciousness, Roy lost it again, slumping into a dead faint in Maes’ arms.

* * *

 It was amazing, really, how just when he thought nothing could get worse, the universe decided to throw in a monumental _fuck you_ just for the hell of it.

Because there was simply no way around it: this was worse than before.

After his initial, horrifying, violent outburst, Roy had needed four new stitches in his forehead, and now sported a glorious black and purple swelling bruise against grey skin. And rather than letting insult be content by itself, the doctor had then insisted upon adding injury, and moved Roy to a bed in the psych ward and slapped _suicide watch_ onto his file.

The first time he’d woken up, there’d been two doctors in the room as a precaution. Their services had been instantly needed, when Roy had given a slow, bleary blink towards the ceiling, black eyes hazy and unfocused-

Then descended into screams again.

Maes had stared, terrified and heartbroken, as his best friend thrashed, yanking desperately at the soft straps bound around his wrists and ankle to restrain him to the bed, clearly understand nothing other than that he was tied down and scared out of his mind because of it. Roy had simply screamed his head off, thrashed, and sobbed until the next sedative had taken affect, and he had dropped off into another dead faint.

The sight of his best friend, tied down to a hospital bed, screaming to be killed, and crying his heart out, was one that would stay with him for the rest of his life.

After that, it was decided he wasn’t allowed visitors anymore. 

* * *

Maes rarely left the psych ward.

He stopped by for a few minutes every morning before work, just to make sure nothing had changed, and always found himself going there straight after and staying for hours until he was kicked out. He paced outside the critical patient wing, flinching every time heartwrenching screams tore through soundproof walls. He overheard worried discussions of how Roy kept tearing the stitches on his back, thrashing so violently even while in full body restraints. He listened to hear that when the neck injury he’d given himself smashing his head against the bedrailing had healed, he’d started tossing his head around again, trying to hit it against the wall or the bedrail or anything within reach to try and hurt himself. 

The under suicide watch warning stayed on his file, and with every passing day, Maes’ spirits fell a little lower.

On the third day, when he was told that Roy was going to lose three of his fingers, they fell so low he nearly sank to his knees right after them.

He caught a glimpse of them taking his best friend to surgery, the man now heavily sedated for the procedure, bruised and still bloody; he caught an even shorter glimpse of him after it, limp and ashen, his mauled hands hidden under a blanket.

When Roy woke up and started screaming again, Maes just sat in the hallway, cradled his head in his hands, and sobbed.

* * *

Finally, the day came when Roy woke up, and he didn’t scream. 

Barred from visiting as he was, Maes had no idea of the development until Ackerman stepped out of the room, looking quietly surprised, and beckoned him over. 

“Yes?” Maes rasped, rubbing a hand at eyes that desperately wanted to flicker shut. “How is he?”

“Well... he’s conscious.”

Maes froze. He half-turned back to stare at Roy’s room, then looked back at the doctor in surprise, his mouth open. “Wh- what?” he stammered. “But he...”

Ackerman offered up a small, guarded smile. “He’s calm now, yes. Well... unresponsive. Close to catatonic, but I’m not entirely convinced... I think he can hear me asking him questions, he’s simply choosing not to answer or react. I was hoping you might get a better response.”

Maes stumbled, reeling from the sudden, euphoric change. “Wait, I can see him now?!” he gasped, heart pounding in relief. “And- and what do you mean unresponsive?”

“You’ll see,” was all Ackerman said in explanation, shaking his head for a moment. He began to lead Maes back towards the room, then stopped for a moment, looking back over his shoulder. “Sir, though he’s much calmer now, we still have him in restraints, as a precaution. He’s going to need to continue this behavior for another twenty fours before I’ll consider letting him out. I’ve tried explaining this to him- but, as I’ve said, I’m not sure whether or not he could hear me. I’m sorry; it won’t be a pleasant sight- but it’s all we can do to stop him from trying to hurt himself again.”

Maes paused for a moment, swallowing the lump in his throat. The nightmarish images of the last time he’d seen his best friend returned to his mind, and he found himself shuddering, needing to force back protests. Yes, restraints would probably terrify Roy right now- but if they were necessary to stop him from killing himself, then that was just what he would take.

Ackerman allowed him to step inside the room, murmuring, “I’ll be back in a few hours to check on him. Try to get through to him, sir,” and then backed out, leaving him alone with his best friend for the first time.

The sight waiting for him this time was as equally nightmarish and chilling as before.

Roy lay against his bed, somehow looking even thinner and smaller than the last time he’d seen him. The blankets were pooled at his feet to allow the doctors to easier access to the straps buckled tightly around his wrists and ankles; drawn across his chest, hips, and thighs. The sight made him stop, nearly whimper; _surely_ such measures were not necessary... he looked so weak and thin already, it was hardly as if he was strong enough to need to be tied down so securely that he could not even move...

Except, wherever the soft cotton met bare skin, it was worn red and raw from his constant struggling; the restraints around his wrists and ankles were over thick bandaging already splotched with red, showing he’d managed to wear open the sores he’d sustained from the shackles and manacles. No matter how weak he _looked,_ it was clear he was still trying to escape- and if he got free, those consequences would be severe.

Anything, even this horrible, nauseating sight, was worth it.

His hands, both bandaged, splinted lumps that barely resembled hands at all, were both not whole. The left, missing his pinky, the right, missing his index and ring finger.

To see his hands lying there, bound to the bed and both resolutely _not complete,_ nearly broke his heart.

And, perhaps he would’ve given into sorrow- if not for one other chilling detail.

His black eyes were open.

“...Roy?” Maes ventured cautiously, voice a bare whisper onto the stale, sterile air.

His friend flinched a little, eyes flickering. His body twitched against restraints, and for a moment Maes thought he’d tried to fight them, a little pained whimper tearing out of his throat- but then all emotion drained away in the space of an instant, so fast Maes wasn’t positive he’d even seen it at all, and Roy lay perfectly still, white face expressionless and deadened eyes staring at nothing.

“...Roy? It’s... it’s me... are you... awake?”

This time, there was no response at all.

“Oh, Roy,” he moaned, gut clenching, and wet tears beaded in his eyes. “ _Roy...”_

But it was no use.

His friend was broken, and his mind was gone.

His heart shuddering, Maes stumbled forward, trembling hands fumbling to unfold the blanket at the foot of the bed. “That’s okay,” he mumbled, striving to keep his voice buoyant and cheerful even through the black cloud of sorrow expanding inside of him. “You’ve- you’ve had a really rough couple of days, haven’t you? If you want to rest for some more, that’s okay. I understand. You can take as much time as you need, Roy... you don’t have anything you need to worry about. Just get better, okay?”

His only response was a slow, tired blink.

He took another breath, forcing his speech to continue to be light and careful. “H-here. You look cold...” With the blankets gone, all of Roy’s pale, skeletally thin body was on display, the sheer hospital gown barely covering enough to preserve even his dignity. Maes knew it wasn’t entirely a selfless move as he spread the blanket out over his friend’s limp body; a definite part of it was just he didn’t think he could handle looking at that much longer. The starvation, the restraints, the missing fingers- all of it. It was just too much.

“Here,” he said again softly, tucking the blanket around his chin. “That should be better.” He paused for a moment, watching black eyes hopefully. To be tucked in like a child should’ve elicited a punch. And even with him incapable of it now- incapable of lifting his arms or even making a fist- still... it surely should’ve gotten him _something._

_..._

Nothing.

Slowly, Maes made himself sit down at the chair beside him, warring valiantly with the despair in him. He looked at those shattered, not-whole hands, then gently rested his palm on his arm instead, trying very hard to smile. “Take your time, Roy,” he promised hoarsely again. “Take as long as you need to. Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be here.”

Roy blinked again.

* * *

After the first day, they tentatively removed the restraints. 

Roy had held still as a rock the entire time and not blinked even once.

It was only after the doctors had finally stepped back, telling Maes quietly this was not necessarily a good sign, but not to get discouraged, and left, that he was able to focus on his friend again and process the single tear trailing slowly down his cheek.

* * *

 The second day, they transferred him out of the psychiatric wing and back into a general ward.

When Roy had woken to find himself in a new room, Maes had gotten nothing more than a slow blink to give him any hope his friend had even realized his new surroundings at all.

He wondered, not for the first time, what had gone wrong, and once again wished he could somehow get into Roy’s head and realize what he needed. He would do anything, if it would just get him to wake up. He would give _anything._

Roy blinked again.

* * *

 The third day, disheartened, downtrodden, and losing spirit, Maes trudged home after yet another unproductive day at work and an even more unproductive visit to his best friend. He fumbled with his keys as he unlocked his door, gaze downcast, and even the thought of seeing his family wasn’t enough to work a real smile out of him as he headed inside, nudging the door shut with his heel behind him.

He could hear Gracia on the phone in the other room, so forestalled greeting her, and the inevitable conversation when he had to tell her, yet again, he’d still failed to get so much as a word out of Roy. He flopped facedown on the couch, pillowing his head in his arms, and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, battling the urge for a stiff drink or the rare cigarette. 

“...he _what?”_ He heard Gracia exclaim, high-pitched with surprise, and found himself listening in, almost desperate for a taste of something mundane; normal. “But- how could he have done that? I thought he was still... oh, no- it’s on _fire?”_

Maes’ brow furrowed, his exhaustion momentarily swept by confusion. This hardly sounded like the normal conversation he’d been hoping for. Hs inherently nosy nature poked its way to the forefront and he started to sit up again, wondering what was going on.

“I don’t understand... who would’ve given him his gloves like this? I... he did _what?_ ”

The disbelief and worry in her voice rose with every word, enough to concern him even in his exhausted state. Swinging off the couch, Maes headed to the kitchen just in time for his wife to bid a hasty goodbye and hang up.

“Gracia, what was that all-“

The look in her eyes made the words die in his mouth.

“Maes,” she started, voice trembling, “you need to get back to the hospital. Now. ...It’s Roy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update'll be up a little early so we can actually get to Roy talking and being Roy again...


	4. Condemned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;_; I will never make promises on an update schedule again. so sorry

When Maes finally got back to the hospital, a mere twenty minutes after leaving it, he found himself completely embroiled in what was quite clearly a disaster in the making.

Ill equipped security guards had roped the area off, the rest of the hospital staff totally scattered minus a nurse with singed hair, a smoking shirt, and a burned hand sitting, trembling, and Roy’s doctor in front of her, cleaning the wounds. Maes made a beeline for them first, still thoroughly shocked and thrown by the entire situation. “What the hell _happened?!”_ he demanded, eyes wide as he beheld the carnage. “I only left twenty minutes ago!”

Ackerman shot him a surly glare, still attending to the nurse’s burnt hand; the shaken woman just shook her head, still trembling. “I was just trying to clean the stitches,” she whispered, then jerked back when the doctor reached a particularly tender spot; Maes gasped to see the burns continued all the way up her forearm. “And he just... just... _lost it.”_

Ackerman frowned at him again, still busying himself with gauze. “Your friend is going to kill someone. Possibly himself.”

“He was fine when I left!” Well- not fine... nothing Roy did nowadays could, in any realm of possibility, be considered _fine,_ but _this..._

“Well, he’s not fine now, Lieutenant Colonel.” He wrapped another bandage tightly around the nurse’s wrist then turned away with a glare, clearly refusing to so much as go near his patient now. “He’s threatening anyone who even tries to open the damn door and I’m pretty sure if we let this go on, he’s going to lose control and try and burn the whole building down. A couple State Alchemists beat you here and evacuated all the surrounding rooms already, but... well, that’s just not much comfort when he can throw fireballs around.”

Maes groaned, running a hand through his hair as he tried to straighten it and turned back towards the security tape, his heart pounding. The man did have a point, he admitted grudgingly... Roy could be exceedingly dangerous when he wanted to be and if provoked- god, he didn’t want to think about the damage he could do.

But it just didn’t make any _sense._ Roy didn’t have his gloves... and even if he had, _this..._

_Damn it, Roy, why couldn’t you have come to just half an hour sooner?!_

But that was neither here nor there, at this point, so, with a weary sigh that did nothing to disguise his rising panic, Maes turned away and headed off to approach his best friend’s room.

Around the corner, he immediately ran into the other ‘State Alchemists’ Ackerman had mentioned, and when he realized it was Ed and Al, the relief that gripped him was so strong he nearly swayed on his feet. Thank god. He had no idea how they’d done it, but those two boys had a knack for being where they needed to be at just the right time, and he’d never been more thankful for it than he was now. “Edward, Alphonse!” he called weakly, raising a hand as he started towards them. “What-“

He blinked, stopping midsentence.

Ed, indomitable _Ed,_ looked shaken, pale and anxious as he stood at least ten feet back from the room, arms folded tightly and a few patches of his red coat actually smoking or burned off. The kid at least looked unscathed, unlike the poor nurse, but it was abruptly clear that Ed, too, had tried to get in there and paid for it. And while Al was, of course, uninjured, Maes was still horrified. It was one thing for Roy to have attacked a stranger, but _Ed?_

God... what had those monsters _done_ to him?

“Ed, Al,” he started again, voice still weak, reaching towards them. “Are you two okay...?”

Ed managed a distracted nod, eyes still darting between him and the door to Roy’s room. He rubbed at a scorched patch of his coat nervously. “Uh... yeah. Yeah, we’re fine...”

“Is- is Roy...?”

Ed blinked, then just shook his head with a weary groan, but no matter how jaded he tried to be it was obvious he was shaken. “Something’s wrong with him, Hughes. That alchemy- he could never do that before.”

“What do you mean?” This just kept getting worse...

Ed shook his head again, finally clapping his hands together to take care of the ruined scorched marks on his clothes. Maes was relieved; somehow, if even _Ed_ looked this thrown it made him feel that much more frightened about whatever had gone wrong. “I don’t know, exactly,” Ed continued on, not quite meeting his eyes, “but he doesn’t have his gloves, but it’s not even slowing him down. He’s making sparks out of thin air, Hughes.”

“...So?” he pried, managing a weak shrug. “He always does that.” It was worrisome, but he’d probably just scratched an array somewhere. The implications of that were very concerning but he still didn’t get why Ed was looking like that...

“No. He makes explosions out of thin air. He makes the sparks from his gloves. Or... at least he used to.” Ed sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “It’s why this is a problem. If he’s somehow figured out some kind of array to make sparks, too, then water won’t stop him. It’ll just delay him for a second- maybe not even that. Hughes... Hughes, at the rate he’s transmuting, if we don’t figure out a way to stop him, he’s going to kill himself.”

That was all he needed to hear.

It wasn’t something he’d ever have thought of himself, too accustomed to think of what the alchemists were capable of being close to magic- but transmutations _did_ take energy, and remembering how Roy had looked even just that evening, before he’d left; fragile enough all it would take was one gust of wind to kill him... he had none to spare.

After surviving everything that he already had, Maes was sure as _hell_ not going to stand by and watch as he ended up doing himself in. Not in some god dammed stunt like this.

“Hey, Hughes, what are you doing?! Stop-“

“I’m _stopping_ him,” he snapped, ripping his hand free from Ed’s and taking another step towards the door in the same motion.

This time it was Al that blocked him, sweeping around to stand between him and his best friend as an immovable, impenetrable wall- the way only Al could. “I don’t think you’re listening to us. He’ll kill you. He’s not letting anyone-“

“He’s scared!” he cried, again trying to step past him but to no avail. “He’s _scared,_ but he won’t hurt me. I know he won’t! If I just get a second to talk to him I’ll be able to get through to him-“

But even as he spoke, confidently as he ever had, Maes knew how false his words really were. Roy was far enough gone to have attacked _Ed._ By the sound of it, was doing things with his already lethal alchemy they’d never seen before. The chances of him accomplishing nothing but a third degree burn were high- but damn it, what else was he supposed to do?! This was _Roy._ His best friend was actually conscious and coherent for the first time for nearly a week, and by the sound of it, suffering and terrified- he couldn’t just stand by and do nothing!

The two brothers exchanged an uncertain glance with each other while he waited, heart in his throat and helplessness clenching in his chest. When Ed finally gave in, even as his brother protested, he couldn’t help but sag with relief as he watched the older alchemist turn to clap his hands again, then rip a small, perfectly formed array straight out of the wall. “Here,” he snapped, eyes narrowed, pressing it into his hand. “This should protect you, at least a little. But you better talk fast, Hughes.”

As frantic and scared as he was, Maes didn’t even wait to thank him, already tearing past them to run towards the room, but Ed grabbed him by the arm again to hold him back. “Hey, listen to me! The array’ll activate automatically- using _your_ energy, you idiot. That means it could kill you- fuck knows why I’m doing this; now instead of Mustang killing himself there’s you, too- so listen to me, Hughes, if you can’t talk him down just get out of there and we’ll find another way, okay?” The metal hand gripped his arm even tighter, almost tight enough to bruise. “I’m serious. Think about what it’ll do to him if you get hurt during this.”

Finally, for the first time since he’d heard something was _wrong_ with his friend, Maes hesitated. He slowed, biting his lip, indecision and uncertainty slipping out of the woodwork to at last make him stop. Because, part of Maes did have to concede that Ed had a very good point. As terrified as Roy had to be right now, if he ended up hurting anyone else in this- this what, this breakdown, this episode, this nightmare?- he’d hate himself for it. If Roy ended up hurting _him..._ god, he couldn’t imagine what it’d do to him. If it was at all possible for him to be suffering worse than he was now, then that was probably the only way to get it.

Unfortunately, none of that mattered enough to him right now to stop him from giving a single terse nod, ripping his hand free, and making for the door.

The heat hit him first. The sheer, oppressive _heat_ of it. It was so stunning he was nearly carried back a step into the hall as a hot wave did its damnedest to bowl him over, scalding his throat and his lungs, slamming into him like a foot to the chest. Then there was the smoke. God, he’d been in Ishval, and even before then he’d witnessed some of Roy’s first rather disastrous attempts at Flame Alchemy; he was no stranger to the acrid blow of hot smoke, but _this-_ it was like stepping into an active volcano. He coughed and reeled, one hand waving in front of him while the other automatically went to his throat, tugging at his collar uncomfortably. It was so thick, black and grey, wafting clouds lit up with glowing sparks, that he could barely see.

But the heat and the smoke were nothing, compared to the fire.

Maes could see at once that Ed had been right: this wasn’t Roy’s alchemy.

Roy’s alchemy was quick. It was an expansive, perfectly controlled explosion, there one second and replaced by devastation the next. But this was _fire._ Fire crawled along the floor of the room, licking along the walls and the ceiling, a brilliant, poisonous orange, crackling at him in a dangerous swell that looked almost alive. It flickered and wavered, growling at him as a sentient beast- and then, it flared up at him to roar.

_“STAY AWAY!”_

Maes almost wanted to choke. The scream rooted him to the spot, one shaking hand still half dragging his shirt over his mouth and nose, the other clutching the array Ed had given him.

He sounded absolutely terrified.

God damn it, god _damn it!_ Why, why, _why_ had he left. Why had he not noticed anything before? How could he not have seen some sign earlier, some indication that this was coming?! Why the hell had he _left?_ “R-Roy-“ he called into the smoke, squinting.

The blaze sucked backwards and swirled, twisting as a living thing around his friend. It looked almost like a shield- a fiery, moving, lethal shield flickering between him and the rest of the world- and then, from behind that shield, in a voice blacker than midnight, his best friend spoke.

“I’ll kill you. I will burn you to _ash_. I’ll set you on fire and watch as you feel every inch of you burn until there’s nothing left if you so much as take a _single. step. closer.”_

The fires grew with his words, coaxing forwards to crawl around him so seamlessly he was hemmed in from all sides in a bare flicker of bloody light. They roared hungrily- undeniably _ravenous_ for his flesh.

In all the years he had known him, Maes had _never_ heard Roy speak like that.

Shock ripped the words from him, painful and keening; horror propelled him forward into speech when the smartest thing to do had to be to just shut his mouth. “Roy _,_ it’s just me-“

_“FUCK YOU!”_

Flames exploded with the force of the scream, roaring towards him so quickly Maes didn’t even have time to flinch before Ed’s array caught them, steam sizzling over his skin just in time to stop him from being roasted alive. He still flinched, several seconds too late, recoiling from the intense heat, but his heart and mind were too sick to care.

“Fuck you, _fuck you,”_ Roy gasped, but it was suddenly desperate, “my name was the _first_ thing you fucking stole from me; how can you use it again now? How can you give it back to me _now?!_ Why? Why are you _doing this_ to me?” The words splintered into anguish and sobbed terror, any possible strength he’d had before just instantly _gone,_ scattered in broken pieces all over the flaming floor. “Stop. Stop it stop just _stopit._ P... _please.”_

The flames swelled again, billowing around the shadowed form in the corner of the room like a wall, pressing outwards with a scream of heat. Even with Ed’s array he stumbled, thrown to his knees, and he recoiled with a sharp gasp, yanking his palms back from the scalding floor. Maes knelt there, frozen in place, listening as the chilling words sunk him down in a horrified pit of disbelief and grief that felt so deep it was if his very soul was drowning. “Roy...” he whispered, inaudible under the roar of the flames, and pressed a hand to his mouth in grief.

He couldn’t bear this.

“I’m already _dead,”_ he caught, sobbed and so broken he could barely understand it at all. “I’m dead, I’m condemned to hell already, I’m _dead,_ why can’t you just let me die? Do I have to burn myself alive? Is that it? Do I have to make myself nothing but ash? I’ll do it. I don’t care. I’ll do it.” Underneath another burst of anguished fire so loud there was another sob, so hushed and devastated it dwindled to almost nothing under the flames. “I don’t even care about taking any of you with me anymore. I’m already in hell, just- j-just _let me g-go-“_

Roy choked, and he was crying, Maes realized, realized it like a kick to the gut. He was crying, begging for monsters who weren’t anywhere but his own mind to give him the smallest, most brutal mercy of letting him die.

His heart tore gleefully in two, and devastated sorrow flooded him from head to toe.

Ed’s array gripped tight in one sweaty, ash-dirty hand, Maes wrenched himself back up to his feet again. He was ready for the retaliation this time, but even then couldn’t help but flinchwhen a hot gust of ash and flame slammed into him with all the keening violence of a man who thought he was about to die.

More terrified, heartbroken, but _determined_ than he’d ever been in his life, Maes steeled himself, took a breath, and breached the wall of flames.

The sight took his breath away.

Roy had somehow dragged himself to the corner of the destroyed room, curled up on the floor and pressed tightly against a scorched wall. By the looks of it, he’d tried to stand, but starved muscles and exhaustion had failed him, and he’d been reduced to crawling like a desperate, cornered animal. There were dripping arrays scrawled all around him, some traced out on the floor or walls, some on his shirt, and then some even _carved_ into his hands and arms, fresh blood snaking over ripped open bandages and torn apart stitches. He was a walking lethal weapon, marked with the same array, over and over again, devastatingly complex and terrifying- but _not_ the circle Roy controlled his alchemy with. There were elements there that he recognized from it- but Ed was right, it was different, just like those flames were different... more dangerous. More deadly.

It _was_ Roy, yes... but not his best friend.

Not as he had ever seen him before.

“Oh... _Roy.._.” he gasped, horrorstruck.

His best flinched at the name, jerking his head up from the protective cocoon of his arms to stare at him in disbelief. His black eyes were huge in his emaciated face, desperation and outright panic glimmering underneath the unkempt, windswept hair, the ash and soot streaking his cheeks. In contrast to the rest of him there wasn’t any blood, thank god- Maes didn’t think he could’ve handled seeing his best friend scratch circles into even his own face- but the look in his eyes...

Vulnerable wasn’t the word for it. Terrified wasn’t either. It was too animal to be terror, too base to be vulnerability. It wasn’t fear, or despair, or pain.

Whatever that unnamed thing _was_ , to see it in his best friend’s eyes did something agonizing to Maes, and he knew he’d never forget that look as long as he lived.

But then it was gone, banished by something as simple Roy hiding it. The man just ducked his head again, burying it in his knees and hiding it under his arms, pressing himself so tightly against the wall for a heartbeat he looked as small as a beaten child. There was muttering, quiet gasps that were wordless under the roar of the racing flames but their anguish cutting through him like a knife all the same, and in an instant Maes found himself on his knees in front of him, reaching forwards with a trembling hand.

“Stop it... please just _stop...”_

It was surely impossible, Maes thought, to feel such a terrifying mix of this much rage and sorrow and survive it.

“It’s okay,” he tried to say, but it came out like he was begging it; begging Roy to hear him, see him, accept him. “You’re okay, R-“

“Why are you doing this to me?!” Somehow he was pressed even harder back against the wall, cringing away from him so desperately it was painfully evident just what exactly he thought Maes was going to do to him. “Stop, just _stop._ I know you’re not him, stop _lying._ Why are you doing this?! I k-know- I know it’s n-not real- I... _please just stop!”_

Maes froze.

“...Roy,” he choked out, when he could speak again. For the second time, he remembered; the second time he’d needed to do this, to tell Roy _it’s me, you good hearted bloody idiot, you’re safe, it’s ME._ “Roy, it’s... me. Maes.”

Those people that dared do this to him were going to pay with their fucking _blood._

 

But this time, Roy paid his words no mind at all. He didn’t even raise his head, shrunk back away from his hand and his presence in abject _terror_. He shook his head over and again, arms wrapping even tighter around himself, a whimper just barely heard as it was sobbed against his knees. “I know you’re not him,” he gasped. “I know you’re _lying.”_ The colonel was trying to yell again, but his voice splintered, shattered with devastation and anguish, every ounce of bravado he tried to force breaking into a sob. “No. No. _No,_ I know you’re not him. Maes wouldn’t have left. He promised he wouldn’t but then he _did-_ and- and Maes wouldn’t have.” He gasped through another sob, doubling over on himself with a cry. “Quit fucking lying! You- y-you’re n-n- _not..._ him... you _can’t_ be him so just _stop._ Stop doing this. Stop doing this to me. S-stop... I- _please...!_ ”

It was out of nowhere that fire slammed into him again. A desperate swell of stunning heat upwards of Roy lashing out, terrified of him and frantic to get away and so intense that if it hadn’t been for Ed’s array, right then and there, Maes would’ve been killed.

Despite how terrifying close the flames had just come to roasting him alive, in that moment, Maes wouldn’t have been able to run for his life if his superior officer had been right there ordering it.

He stared at Roy, that bloody, fiery demon, that terrified, broken man, his mind racing with the new information. This wasn’t like before, when they’d rescued him, when Roy just hadn’t processed who he was until Maes had forced him. No- Roy had looked at him here, recognized him, and actively chosen to say _no, you’re not him._

Because, in Roy’s own words, he’d promised not to leave- and then he’d left.

He suddenly remembered now, memories coming back underneath the swell of horrified guilt, in the ambulance, when the paramedics had been trying to sedate him. When Roy had been terrified out of his mind, begging for his help, and in a heartbeat Maes had promised to stay with him the entire time he was unconscious. To keep him safe.

And when Roy had woken up, that first time...

He’d been in the hallway. God, he’d been barely twenty feet away.

But Roy hadn’t known that.

Roy had woken up to those doctors touching him, and- and Maes...

Hadn’t been there.

Oh, god, _no._

What had he _done?_

The psychotic break, the suicide attempts, the subsequent terror, his dead-eyed state of the last few days, and then _this_...

It was all his fault.

_Oh, god... Roy..._

He felt as if he was going to vomit.

No _wonder_ Roy had tried to kill himself... to have believed he had been rescued, was _safe-_ and then desperately convince himself it had all been just a delusion...

The memory of his best friend’s chilling screams, pleas to be killed, returned to him, and in that moment, Maes hated himself.

This was his fault.

He raised a trembling hand to his mouth, doubling over on himself, and found himself lifting his gaze in horror to stare at his best friend again. Roy continued to try and push away, to hide himself, bloody hands dripping, fire swirling around him, head buried and shoulders trembling in terror- and suddenly, it made sense. He wasn’t allowing himself to hope again. He wasn’t allowing himself even look, to believe he’d been saved, was _safe,_ because he wouldn’t be able to bear it if it ended up not being true.

His heart shuddered, threatening to again tear itself in two.

What the hell had he _done?_

“...Roy,” he said finally, and it took everything he had in him to not stop his voice from breaking. “It’s- it’s really me. I...“ _I’m so sorry. Oh, god, I’m sorry._

 _“Shut up!”_ Roy cringed back against the wall, pressing himself away from him, head buried even tighter. His hands jerked up to cover his ears and it was only when he pressed them over his head that he realized it wasn’t just the room that was on fire- _he_ was on fire. His injured hands had both been burning, strips of gauze seared against his skin and gentle licks of flame ringing the bloody circles carved on himself. “Shut up, shut up! _I’ll kill you- shut up! Stop it! Leave me alone, STOP IT!”_

He wanted to say it was the smoke, making his eyes water. But it wasn’t, and Maes wasn’t fooling even himself. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he begged, heart arching, “Roy, it’s all right, it’s going to be okay-“

_“STOP IT! PLEASE! PLEASE JUST STOP IT!”_

Panic and grief made him groan into a whimper, sinking back onto his heels in despair. Roy wouldn’t even risk _looking_ at him. What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t bear to grab him and force him, but beyond that, there was nothing! After he’d fucking _left_ him that first time, Roy would never trust him now!

A sane, rational voice in the back of his head finally spoke up, very quiet and muffled underneath the rage and sorrow pounding in his blood. It told him to just get up, calmly back away, and send in Al to subdue him, because Ed’s array was not going to hold out forever and if pushed the Flame Alchemist any further, he very well might get himself killed. That sane, rational voice told him _it’ll be fine. You can get through to him later, you know, when you’re NOT about to be charbroiled by a fireball, and they’ve got Roy drugged up to his eyeballs to the point where he just might actually look at me and let himself realize what’s going on._

It told him, _don’t be stupid, Maes. It’s the only way._

That voice was stuffed away very quickly at the idea of Roy’s screams, when Al came in here to pin him down.

Maes shut his eyes, his heart pounding with anguished guilt, and knew he had no other choice.

Very gently, very tenderly, he reached forward, and touched a hand to Roy’s. The flinch was instantaneous, heartbreaking, but expected, so he let it happen without withdrawing, and very softly tugged, just enough to get it away from his ear.

“Roy,” he said. “It’s me. Maes. I _promise.”_

Save for the violent trembling, shaking wracking him from head to toe, Roy didn’t even move. It was as if he was too frightened to so much as pull away. The fact was horrifically saddening, but Maes didn’t have the luxury to just sit here and be _sad,_ so he ignored it, and he ignored the gasped, desperate plea as well, hating himself for it now but knowing it was what had to be done.

“Roy. Slow down. Take a breath. Look around you, actually _look_. Look at where you are. You are _safe._ You’re in a hospital- albeit one on fire now, but a hospital all the same.” The hold on his hand was so gentle, only just tense enough to stop Roy from covering his ears again, but Maes carefully loosened it even more, so he could run a thumb softly over the back of his hand. “I know you’re scared, and you’ve got every right to be, but come on, Roy. You can do this- hey, look at me...”

But it was no use. There was still no sign he was even being listened to. Roy was still absolutely frozen under his touch, petrified like the hand over his wrist was about to hurt or violate him and there was nothing Maes could do to dissuade him otherwise. He was gasping again, so violently he was hyperventilating, back heaving, nearly choking with the force of each breath-

He was obviously terrified out of his mind, and _nothing_ Maes could say would change that.

Maes sunk back for a moment helplessly, chewing on his lip. He _had_ to get through to him. There was simply no other option here. He would _not_ give up now. Not when he knew giving up meant soldiers coming in here to strongarm and force him, then doctors restraining him to a bed again, a hundred and one reasons on a silver platter that they were going to hurt him and none to trust them. He could not just give up and walk out... but just how was he supposed to get through to him?

While he sat back on his heels, trying desperately to both rack his mind and ignore the helpless, frightened whimpers from the huddled form before him, fire crawled closer, flickering along the floor. It was only when he grasped that his uniform boots were beginning to _melt,_ though, that he realized what was going on. The fires slunk even nearer, doused by Ed’s array when they licked his skin, but-

But Roy didn’t have Ed’s array.

And he didn’t have his usual control or presence of mind, either, to stop the flames from burning himself.

Maes gasped, stomach turning at the sudden smell of burning flesh. “Oh my god, Roy- Roy, _stop-“_

But he wasn’t stopping.

He was dead set to kill Maes, even if the only thing he’d accomplish was killing himself.

In a blind, instinctual panic, Maes jerked closer, array pressed into his hand, and wrapped himself around Roy.

Itwas just to stop the fires, he’d realize later; to surround Roy on all sides so the fire would have to get through him to get to Roy, and even at the gasped cry he didn’t let go, arms folded around his shoulders and hands firmly patting out the little flames licking over the arrays on his skin. At the contact Roy jerked violently away, head thrown backwards to smack and crack painfully against the plaster, distraught features contorting, but Maes refused to let it stop him.

“Stop- _stop- don’t touch me- don’t do this-_ ** _please-“_**

“Sorry,” Maes returned, far more calmly than he felt, “but I’m not going to let you burn yourself to death and that’s the end of it, Roy. If you want me to let you go, then put out the fires.”

While it certainly wasn’t doing anything to calm him down, it was, at least, protecting him from his own fires, and that was enough to stop Maes from letting him go. He gripped Roy’s shoulders tightly, heart hammering in his chest while his mind raced, desperate to find anything he could get through to the poor man with. But he was just at a miserable blank. Some investigator he was, couldn’t so much as help his best friend- but short of sitting here and holding him, he just didn’t know what he was supposed to _do._

“You weren’t supposed to wake up,” he found himself moaning, more to himself than Roy. “You damn idiot, I’d only left for five minutes. I was calling Hawkeye- telling her about _you,_ Roy. You weren’t supposed to wake up when I wasn’t there. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Still so stiff and frozen in his arms, he hadn’t even expected that he’d be listening, so the pained gasp against his chest took him by surprise. “You left,” he groaned, a near whimper, an accusation that felt like he was being stabbed. “You left. Y-you said... no, you _left._ Maes- Maes wouldn’t have, he _said-“_

His arms wrapped tighter around him before he knew what he was doing, unable to stop himself from pressing the colonel against him, holding him close and refusing to let him go. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Roy.” He caught another whimper and his heart just cracked, guilt and misery constricting around him. This was all his _fault._

Roy was trembling still, eyes rooted on him in horrified disbelief and terror, and after a breath Maes leaned back a little, still holding him but now meeting his eyes. “Trust me,” he implored, “please.” He gripped his shoulders, sure he was hurting raw and broken skin but there just wasn’t an inch of unhurt skin on him to touch. “You can trust me, Roy.”

But Roy shook his head, a panicked and desperate jerk, too distraught to speak and too terrified to try. He tried to scramble away from him but there was just nowhere for him to go, and Maes wasn’t going to leave, not with the flames still flickering too close for comfort. “Put the fires out,” he pressed, “just give me a chance, buddy, _please._ I’m not going to hurt you. Shh...” His hold loosened a little, taking a risk that Roy wouldn’t try and bolt. “It’s all right...”

A heartbeat passed in utter silence, the only motion the flames flickering along the floor. Maes didn’t dare move, hardly dared breathe. He knew he had to let Roy make the choice himself. He wouldn’t interfere more than this, not until the colonel showed signs that he was about to transmute his way into an explosion or dead faint... and he prayed it wouldn’t come to that.

It took several minutes, but Roy’s breathing finally slowed, hardly something that could be called steady or even but at least not hyperventilating. The flames weren’t roaring as oppressively anymore, smoke wafting quietly as the alchemy lessened, arrays no longer glowing.He left his eyes closed tightly still but Maes could tell that he was _exhausted._ Even as terrified he was, fatigue was slowly winning out, and he really could not afford to keep going much longer. He was near to falling asleep on the floor, hanging on only through fear, but Maes could tell he was going to have to give in at some point. And when he did, he would be there to catch him.

Finally, Roy sighed.

He started to look up. His eyes were still closed, shoulders tense, but, very slowly, he began to tilt his head up.

Then, there was a knock on the door.

“Hughes, it’s Ed. There are a couple other soldiers here now. You’ve tried long enough- we’ve got to stop him now, before one or both of you ends up dead. We’re coming in. Get away from the door.”

And, _shit._

All his efforts at getting Roy to relax were immediately wasted, trampled underfoot like trash. Roy threw himself away, hiding his head again in expectation of being hit and gasping, the cry so young and terrified it broke his heart. The arrays on his hands and arms sparked again, lighting up all over his washed out skin in a azure luminescence and smashing Maes with another heat wave so brutal he nearly keeled over. And he couldn’t even _do_ anything about it, was the thing; even as the tiny, terrified whimper issued from his best friend’s throat, even as he cried out and pulled away, Maes had to just turn his back on him, because even more than important than keeping him calm was keeping everyone else the _hell_ away.

 _“Ed!”_ he shouted, then coughed, hunching over with the force of the harsh breaths ripped from his lungs. Could Roy have picked a worse time to become a walking smokecloud?! “Ed, hang on, stop- you don’t have to, everything’s fine! Just give us a few more minutes! Everything’s fine, it’s _fine,_ okay?! Stay outside!”

There was no reply for a moment, and Maes remained frozen still, heart pounding. This could not get any worse. This surely could not get any worse. Roy was trembling and by the sound of it about to start crying again behind him, the military was talking like they were about to charge in here any second now, and there Roy was, armed to the teeth with some unheard of nightmare array- shit, shit, _shit._ This was not going to end well.

Maes bit his lip, listening to the voices on the other side of the door. He cursed under his breath, straining to hear what they were saying, but all he could tell was that Ed was arguing with someone. His stomach twisted with anxiety and he shifted a little more in front of Roy, gritting his teeth. If ever there was a time for Ed to follow a damn order, this was it...

“...if Hughes said he’s got it under control, what’s the problem?”

“The _problem,_ Fullmetal, is that we need to secure Mustang before he decides to take another trip into crazy town and blow up the whole-“

“The _fuck_ did you just say?!”

Maes cursed again. This was going from bad to worse and like this, he didn’t have any control over it. He glanced nervously back at Roy, unable to stop himself from trying to think of the best way to restrain him if the military _did_ end up forcing their way in here...

“You know fucking what, Captain Jackass?” Even from in here, Maes could hear Ed clap his hands together, and then- “Oh. Oops. Would you look at that? Guess I messed something up- I was trying to open it, but it seems like the door’s broken now. Now it’s gotta be opened from the inside. Oh. I am _so_ sorry. My mistake. Really. Totally a mistake. Yeah.”

There was a pause, during which Maes could almost _see_ Ed’s self-satisfied smirk and righteous fury, then the sound of the two brothers leaving.

He stared, wide-eyed with amazement.

_Ed, you are the most brilliant person in existence and next time I see you you’re damn well going to know it._

He waited a few more seconds still, half expectant the military was still going to try and force their way in, and when it became apparent they weren’t he still had to hold still, pushing away his relieved smile to something more appropriate.He took another tremulous breath, insides still twisted anxiously but relieved grin currently winning out still above all else- but finally, every move heavy with trepidation, he turned back towards Roy.

He blinked.

Roy was watching him again.

The colonel stared openly, his eyes wide and shocked, but, to Maes’ surprise, no longer overtaken by fear. He sat still pressed against the wall, but the protective little ball he’d furled himself into was suddenly looser with shock, head lifted up off his knees and previously distraught, closed off features, suddenly... unsure.

“...Roy?” he ventured hesitantly, keeping back a step.

For several moments, it was quiet, except for the gentle crackle of flame.

Then, he breathed, “You didn’t let them in.”

Very slowly, Maes shook his head.

Once again, Roy just stared at him so blankly it was as if his mind had just taken a vacation. “...Why?” he rasped at length, voice hoarse.

Maes paused, choosing his next words very carefully. He was certain that how he went about this was going to be extremely important, and this was not something he could afford to screw up.

“Because I’m your friend, Roy,” he said gently at last, “and so until you’re ready to deal with them, I won’t let them near you. ...I promise.”

For several moments, Roy just stared at him again. The flames had calmed somewhat, still raging on by themselves but no longer egged on by alchemy. Whatever it was that Maes had done right, something had gotten through somehow, and he sat there weighing it now, naturally a scientist even like this and simply unable to ignore a piece of ironclad evidence when handed to him right on a silver platter. He sat there still as a rock, eyes wide, bloodshot, and terrified- but for the first time, focused.

Holding his breath, Maes held out a hand, stopping before he actually made contact but offering it still all the same, repeated, “Give me a chance, Roy,”, and just _hoped_ with every fiber of his being.

Once again, everything was perfectly still.

 

Then...

Roy closed his eyes tightly, remaining stiff and terrified against the wall but shoulders set with some sort of finality. He breathed in deeply, the flames flexing with him, wavering closer in a deadly advance that it took all of Maes’ self control not to flinch at.

Then, he exhaled.

There was a wash of suddenly chilled air, rolling outwards from the colonel and past him in a gentle wave that gusted towards the corners of the room, buffeting the fire down and extinguishing it so easily it was almost as if it had never been there at all. The flames that had been licking against Maes’ skin went too, withdrawing so abruptly he nearly gasped with relief at the sudden abscence of heat.

Just like that, the fires Roy had been controlling ever since he’d set foot in this room were gone.

Ash and smoke still lingered on the air, and Roy stayed absolutely frozen, cringing back against the corner and his eyes shut tight. He looked terrified.

Heart clenching again, Maes found himself with no other choice but to remain still as well, not even moving the hand still extended out, waiting for Roy to trust him enough to take it.

It took several seconds of complete stillness for, very hesitantly, the man to crack open an eye by a slit, watching him with the wariness and terror of someone that fully expected he was about to be betrayed and killed. When Maes didn’t move, Roy just continued to watch him, breaths harsh, every starved muscle tense as he waited for the hammer to fall.

Until finally, he seemed to understand that it was never going to.

He stared openly at Maes, and for a chilling moment his expression was so blank of anything resembling comprehension it felt like the empty shell of the man he’d been waiting to wake up for over a week now. But then he slowly shook his head, dark eyes traveling away from him to haze over in disbelief. “I... _oh,”_ he mumbled, limp with shock. “I... I thought...”

“I’m sorry,” he finished finally, voice tiny.

Maes nearly fell with relief.

He wanted to laugh, so giddy with it; he barely restrained it into just an exhausted, beaming smile, sinking back onto his heels with a shaky sigh. “I’m the one who should be apologizing,” he corrected gently, though it hardly looked convincing, with the wide smile still struggling to smash apart any attempts at being calming or helpful entirely. Roy was okay. He’d realized who he was, he trusted him, he was back, he- he was _okay._

Roy, however, did not seem very interested in his reaction, probably inappropriately happy or not.

He stared instead, eyes wide as they jumped around the room, witnessing the details he’dhe must’ve been trying to ignore or rationalize this whole time, finally now realizing them and the reality that it was okay, he was safe, this was _real._ His breaths jerked into a startled, almost frantic rhythm, gaze jumping from the room to Maes again and again. “I’m s-sorry,” he stammered after a breath, voice thick and strained with disbelief. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I thought- I thought that this wasn’t- I really did, Maes. _Maes,_ oh my god. I’m sorry.” He curled over in on himself, hand pressed to his mouth to muffle the near sobs, eyes still staring. “I’m so sorry.”

As relieved as he wanted to still be, the rush of euphoria to know he’d _finally_ gotten Roy to trust him, now suddenly seeing him like this- something fragile in him cracked. He was apologizing? For _this?_

His heart thudded with anguish and he found himself reaching forward just because he couldn’t stand to stay back, wishing only to just physically grab him and pull out of the mire of misery and self-blame he was already sinking into. Taking a chance, and a huge risk, Maes gripped him first by his shoulder, and when he didn’t jerk away gently guided him off the wall, pulling him close against him. “It’s okay. Hey, It’s okay,” he crooned. “Don’t apologize, I understand. Shh... it’s all right, Roy.” He held the man tighter, closing his eyes and almost wanting to cry. This was all his fault. He’d left. Why had he _left?_ He’d known Roy was safe and the doctors wouldn’t hurt him, but that wasn’t the _point,_ the point was he’d promised Roy he wouldn’t leave and then- _god damn you, Maes, you fucking idiot, god damn you!_

Roy didn’t say anything, and Maes couldn’t bring himself to say anything, either.

Too shaken and horrified with himself to take control any better than this, Maes just sat there and held him, mind at a blank. He let Roy readjust and reorient himself to what was going on, something he should’ve spent the past _week_ doing but Maes had off and fucked that up, too. Damn it, never mind how he’d messed up in the first place, why had he never figured it out until now? It was so _obvious_ in retrospect. But he’d just never put the pieces together- but Roy had been suffering the whole time, he should’ve just _known_ what he’d done wrong-

Maes’ self-loathing ramblings were interrupted, when his knees abruptly gave out on him.

Weakness and lightheadedness slammed into him like he’d just walked into a wall facefirst. His stomach bottoming out, Maes swayed through a groan, suddenly having to grip Roy’s brutally thin shoulders just to keep himself upright. The tight hold drew out a muffled and surprised whimper of pain, though, and it was so gutwrenching he yanked his hands away- even when it meant keeling over onto his side to land against the wall.

And Roy just stared at him, eyes wide and afraid.

 

Even with Roy looking at him like that, even with the almost painful need to give reassurance, it still took Maes at least several seconds to catch his breath, squeezing his eyes shut over the dizziness still spinning in his head. Finally, still trembling unsteadily against the wall, he managed to raise his fist, opening it so the colonel could see Ed’s array lying in his palm.

“H-how the hell...” he panted at last, still swaying, “can _you_ nearly blow this place sky high and still be standing there, but all I do is neutralize a few flames and I’m the one on the floor?”

He didn’t really know what kind of answer, if any, he expected Roy to give, but was expressly relieved when, after several seconds, the man just cautiously began to sink backwards to lean against the wall again, confusion clearing. Roy still looked shaky in his own right, like he had no business doing anything but lying down, but Maes was in no state to help him, so all he could do was watch carefully as his best friend pressed himself back against the wall again, drawing an arm around himself and huddling into as small a ball as he could. It looked as if he wasn’t even aware he was doing it.

“Who gave you this?” he whispered at last, lifting the metal circle out of his hands to trace it with a thumb. Maes stiffened at the sight, finding himself unable to bear it and gaze jerking to his feet instead. Roy’s hand, burned, sliced with arrays, thin, and his fingers... he shut his eyes for a moment, breathing hard through his mouth.

“Ed did.”

Roy’s eyes clouded again.

“...He could’ve killed you,” the colonel murmured finally, curling even tighter around himself. One of the bleeding circles on his hand glowed, alchemy crackling around it, and the metal array just disintegrated into a shower of ash. Roy palmed it for a moment, cupping his hand around the remains, then shut his eyes with a shudder and let it fall to the floor. “What the hell was he thinking? I- I could’ve _killed_ you.”

“Yeah, and you also could’ve killed yourself.” Maes was terrified of pushing anything right now, more than content to let Roy say or do anything that he wanted so long as it didn’t hurt himself but he wasn’t going to let him guilt himself into feeling even worse than he already did. Not over this. “He told me it was a bad idea. Don’t blame him- I was the one who insisted.”

“...You shouldn’t have risked it. Not for me, Maes.”

He’d already opened his mouth to fully inform him just how _ridiculous_ such a thing was- if there was _anyone_ he’d risk his life so greatly for, after Gracia and Elicia, it was this idiot sitting right here telling him he wasn’t worthy- but something stopped him.

The look on his face, the way he’d said it... the way a sense of defeat almost seemed to cling to him like a second skin...

This wasn’t Roy just being stubborn.

This was far worse.

Before Maes could set aside that unsettling sense of unease and decide how to proceed, because he was still nearly petrified of doing something wrong and ending up scaring or upsetting him again, Roy looked past him, bloodshot, shocked eyes wandering about the room to widen when he took in the details for the first time, finally looking at it as a hospital room, not the place he’d been imprisoned for so long. His eyes instantly widened in horror, breath quickening at all the damage he’d caused. One shaking hand clutching at his bloody shirt as he shrank back, struggling to rise. “God, what have I done?” he moaned, “What have I _done?”_ and Maes instantly found himself jerking up to grab him as if he could physically pull Roy back from descending back into guilt or self-blame.

“Nothing that can’t be fixed.” He tried gently to get him out of the corner but when Roy resisted loosened his grip, too wary of forcing him. “Roy-“

“I’m sorry,” he gasped again, one hand trying to brace himself against the wall but with the arrays carved into the front and back, shallow but still dripping blood and only _three_ fingers to use he couldn’t manage it and nearly fell, knees buckling. “I’m so sorry. I thought- I t-thought- oh, god- Maes, who did I hurt?” The array-scarred hands tightened, and his voice shook with something suspiciously close to a dry sob. “I attacked people- I didn’t mean to, I thought they- t-they were-”

Though it took all the strength he didn’t have, Maes somehow wrenched himself to sit up straighter, reaching a trembling hand a little closer to him, not touching him just yet but hoping to get him to realize he wasn’t alone in this. “You didn’t hurt anyone, Roy.”

He immediately decided that mentioning the poor nurse in the hallway, singed hands and definitely shaken, but overall, she’d live, was a monumentally stupid idea.

But Roy flinched back like the words had been a punch. “Don’t lie to me,” he choked, voice hitching. “I know I did something. I know I- I r- _remember_ attacking- I- what did I _do?”_

Damn it, why, why, _why_ did Roy have to focus on something like this now? He had to be suffering enough as it was; why did he insist on making it worse for himself? “You singed a few blankets and burned a few floor tiles; that’s _all,_ Roy. I guess a benefit of being the Flame Alchemist is that people know to scatter when you’re not happy.”

It was such a cringeworthy attempt at comforting him Maes nearly groaned aloud, wanting to smack himself on the forehead. Wow. Could he be any more ineffectual and unhelpful? Could he pick a fucking _worse_ time to be the worst best friend possible?

But, thank god, Roy was just too out of it to care about the fact that Maes had apparently lost any way with words he’d ever had. He just nodded slowly, trembling against the wall, and took in another shuddering breath, arms wrapped tightly around himself. No attempt was made to move, and by the stuttered, panicked rise and fall of his chest, he didn’t feel any better at all.

Maes swallowed, weakly pushing himself an inch forward again. He was going to have to take the lead here, because if he left it to Roy, he was fairly sure the colonel would end up taking the both of them right off a cliff. “Don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong, especially considering the circumstances... no one’s judging you for anything. Okay?” Or if anyone _did_ have something to say, they could just fucking talk to Maes about it, and stay the hell away from Roy. “It’s going to be all right.”

He couldn’t really tell if he was being heard or not, but something told him sitting there in silence was a bad idea. He wanted to keep him occupied, at the very least, and found himself slowly reaching his hand forward again, leaving it near one of Roy’s. “Are you okay? Can I look at your hand, Roy?”

Finally, that got dark eyes to focus on him again, staring blearily at him past his overly long hair with such pain and confusion Maes might as well have just asked him if he was okay with being shot. “What?”

“...Your hands,” he repeated weakly, feeling almost ill. “They’re bleeding again.”

It wasn’t just his hands. He’d torn off most of the bandages, and violently at that, using the blood to draw arrays, and from what he could see stitches had been torn, too. Just by the number of arrays scattered all around him, all over his body, he’d bled enough to need a doctor, but, honestly, Maes couldn’t care less, at the moment. If he started passing out or going into shock, then he’d go get one. For now, he just wanted to be there for him and keep him safe, and one thing he knew for sure was that dragging a doctor in here now wasn’t going to get that.

Roy stared blankly at him again, like he honestly didn’t comprehend the question. Maes waited a few seconds, heart lodged uncomfortably in his throat, but when he never got a response decided to just throw caution to the wind and try.

He went slowly, touching the back of his hand first and giving him a moment to back off or tell him to stop. When it didn’t come, the colonel still just _staring_ at him as if he’d never seen him before, Maes gulped and broke his gaze, looking down to his mangled hand instead.

Once again, his breath caught, and he found himself having to bite his tongue to hold back an angry reprimand. Now was _not_ the time, but just... _god..._ his eyes roamed in sickened horror over what his best friend had done. He could’ve killed himself. Whatever he’d used to carve the arrays had gotten terrifyingly close to a vein more than once, and either Roy hadn’t realized or he just didn’t care; the circle marked both sides of his hand, there was another on his forearm, and he could see another disappearing underneath the thin sleeve- and this was just one arm. Suddenly Maes didn’t at all want to look at him closer, find out how many _others_ he’d marked on himself. He swallowed again, pressing back frantic fear and sorrow.

The worst part, really, was that he could understand why he’d done it. Couldn’t even fault him for it. If he’d honestly believed he’d dreamed up being rescued...

His stomach turned, and for a moment, Maes just wanted to open his eyes, wake up in his own bed, and realize this had all been one sick, horrible nightmare.

 

Helplessly running a hand over the cuts, too sick at heart to speak and too terrified of doing something wrong to risk it, anyway, Maes was still silent when Roy turned his head away, tucking it against his knee. His arm remained in his grip, so limp it was honestly frightening, but his shoulders were shaking, and his breaths were unsteady again, hitched and simply _miserable._ Heart aching, Maes instantly let him go, worried it was bothering him, and leaned forward. “Roy?” he asked softly. “What’s wrong?”

It took him a few tries to even get the words out, so weak and wracked with fear as they were. “I’m f-fine. Really. I’m okay. I’m _fine.”_

In spite of himself, Maes just couldn’t help an incredulous stare. “You’re a mess,” he returned, in no uncertain terms, and though part of him instantly cursed the harsh words- well, it was true. Not even Roy could deny it.

But then he _did_ deny it, shaking his head and wiping at his cheek with a shaking hand. “No, I’m fine. Nothing hurts- and the cuts aren’t th-that bad, really and, and you’re okay, too- you don’t need a doctor, if you just lie down for a while you’ll be fine- s-so, everything’s okay, M-Maes _-“_

He cut off abruptly, voice breaking, and his shoulders hitched with the force of another desperate sob.

After several hesitant, heartbroken moments, Maes just swallowed back the anguish that came at the sight of him and hauled himself back over to the wall, sitting next to him and not saying anything. He tried to let a hand carefully rest on his arm after several moments, but when Roy cringed so violently backwards he nearly overbalanced and fell, a whine of terror coming from clenched teeth, jerked it back, heart threatening to shatter all over again.

“Roy,” he said firmly. “I’m not going to get a doctor.”

Roy flinched again, an involuntary cringe that told him his suspicions had been right.

Clearing his throat, Maes went on now, speaking clearly and without any room for argument. “I’m not going to do that, not until you tell me you’re all right with it. Until you’re okay with it, _no one_ will come in here, understand? It’s just me and that’s how it’s going to stay.”

But Roy didn’t reply.

He was shaking again.

Trapped, and feeling wholly useless, Maes found himself unable to do anything but simply sit there and be patient. Roy didn’t speak or look at him, and for a moment, he was struck by how horrible this really was. Here he was, unable to stand, sitting on the floor of a destroyed and still smoking hospital room, his bloody and traumatized, supposed-to-be-dead best friend in a huddle beside him, the only thing in the world he was able to do to help him just wait silently and hope. It was surreal. It was unbelievable and anguishing. It was...

“It’s okay,” he said softly again, but he didn’t believe it.

It wasn’t okay.

When his voice then cracked, he just cleared his throat and left it at that.

The seconds passed into minutes in a way that was agonizing. The colonel was shaking so hard it was a wonder he was even upright at all, head tucked against his knees and hidden in his arms, pulled away even from his best friend. With each ragged breath and gasp of distress he just wanted to pull Roy’s arms down and hold him, get it through his thick skull that he wasn’t alone and there was nothing to be scared of, but at the moment he seriously doubted that’d do anything but frighten him more. There was just nothing he could do but wait for Roy to be ready to face him again.

Finally, his voice so small Maes wasn’t sure he’d heard it at all, came: “I’m sorry.”

Sorrow squeezed in his chest again, so much of it that it hurt to breathe. “You’ve got nothing to apologize for,” he whispered miserably, heart aching.

Roy shrunk back another inch, saying nothing. Slowly, he raised his head at last, tilted away from of him so all he could see was his tangled hair, but he wrapped his arms even tighter around himself at the same time. “I don’t want them to come in here. I _don’t.”_

“They’re not going to.”

Another stuttered, panicked sort of breath came, high-pitched and terrified. “B-but...”

On some level, Maes really could see where Roy was coming from. A dangerous alchemist marked head to toe with a lethal array no one understood, who’d already destroyed the room, nearly killed someone... under normal circumstances, this would not end well for him. Hell, he couldn’t imagine the hospital had any sort of choice except to send in the military armed with sedatives again, restraining him until they at the very least figured out a way to disable the strange arrays...

Well, too bad for the damn hospital, because he wasn’t going to let that happen.

 _“No one_ is going to do _anything_ you’re not okay with,” he implored at last, hand tightening so easily, protectively, over his arm, it was almost an instinct. “You don’t even have to let a doctor look at you if you don’t want it. I’ll stay and I’ll make sure of it, okay? I promise.” _I’m not letting you out of my sight this time, Roy. I swear._

Somehow, that just made him shake even harder.

 

Maes gave him a few minutes again, his own heart threatening to crack with sorrow. He just didn’t know what he was supposed to do. He’d never before been afraid to be harsh before- and indeed, being best friends with the Flame made it a requirement; sometimes the only recourse was just to be downright rough and almost cruel, to drag him out of the black moods he could so easily slip into- but _now..._

Looking at his best friend now, bloodstained and huddled up against the corner, too scared to so much as _look_ at him, Maes feared just one word too harsh would break him.

Finally risking another approach, he slowly lowered a hand onto a shaking shoulder. When he got no reaction, tentatively emboldened, his heart still pounding anxiously in his chest, Maes gently shifted to sit beside him again and brought his arm carefully around his shoulders.For a moment, he found himself struck with the protective urge to squeeze tighter, drawing Roy so close to his side nothing could ever make him look as defeated and withdrawn as he did now. Sure that wouldn’t be received at all well, Maes forced himself to settle for just squeezing his shoulders gently.

“It’s okay,” he found himself murmuring again. “...It’s going to be okay, Roy.”

Roy was silent.

Then, finally: “...It’s not, though... is it.”

Despite the phrasing, it was not a question.

After several moments, the lump in his throat too thick to speak, Maes just squeezed his shoulders again and said nothing.

He could feel Roy shaking under his arm again, fine tremors vibrating through his shoulders and down his spine that he seemed powerless to stop.

Finally, Maes just closed his eyes and pulled Roy closer to him. The way the man didn’t resist and finally seemed to lean a little into the embrace, head pressing against his shoulder as if to hide, just added another extra little tug to the force it felt like was busy trying to rip his heart in two. “...I missed you,” he finally managed, a weak and helpless little thing, and he just sighed, tightening his grip.

It took several moments to get a reply, and when he did, it was just a tiny nod, but Roy didn’t push him away, so Maes didn’t withdraw, either. They just sat there together on the scorched floor, Maes’ arm around his shoulders, and Roy hiding from the rest of the world against his shoulder, and he listened to his best friend breathe and let himself believe, for just a moment, that this was all right.

It was silent for a while. It had to have been minutes, minutes where Roy just bled on him and weighed on his shoulder, face hidden in his jacket. Finally, voice still a small, mumbled sort of a plea, Roy said softly, “They can come in now.”

It was again quiet and still.

“...You’ll have to let me get up and get the door for that, you know.”

He felt a slight intake of breath in the heartbreakingly thin body pressed against him. Roy turned a little, face hidden even more, and Maes felt broken fingers wind weakly in the hem of his shirt, keeping him there.

He sighed, unable to help a sad smile that it hurt to give. “Okay. We can wait.”

For a moment, he thought that’d be the end of it, but after several seconds Roy shook his head, abruptly pushing away from him. Maes let him go and the colonel turned away, face downcast again and arms wrapped tightly around himself as he shivered against the wall. “N-no,” he stammered weakly, ducking his head. “I... you won’t stay. You can’t forever. S-so... so I should j-just...”

“Hey, I told you I’m not leaving. I’m not going to-“

“So what’s your plan here, Maes, set up a tent on the floor, move your family into my apartment? Push your desk into my office?” His voice rose, still a terrified gasp but harsh now too, pierced through with disgust and self-loathing. “Maybe just handcuff me to you, give up on any illusion that I _didn’t_ nearly just have a mental breakdown because you had the audacity to not be right in front of my face when I woke up? That I honestly feel like I’d rather die than face whatever the fuck’s behind that door? Or maybe-“

His voice hitched suddenly, the brittle cast of anger shattering as quickly as it had come. The words fell into a scared silence, Roy’s eyes abruptly wide with startled fright. He withdrew jerkily, face suddenly downcast, like he hadn’t meant to say any of it but just hadn’t been able to control himself.

Radiating shame and regret, hostility melted away just as quickly as it had come, he looked- small, again. So small it just wasn’t _right._ Roy had always been the smaller of the two- not that he’d ever admit it- but he had a way about him, a miraculous sort of talent where he could just walk into a room and own it. Physically two inches shorter, but the minute he opened his mouth somehow becoming larger than life itself.

“...sorry,” Roy whispered, voice shuddering, and pulled into himself a little more.

It felt like he’d been punched in the gut.

And the worst part about it was, the bastard was _right._ While Maes had absolutely no plans to go anywhere for a while, and at the suggestion of cuffing his best friend to him had actually gotten a split second thought of _at least I could make sure you were safe-_ Roy was still right. He was going to have to leave eventually. Not now, not tonight, maybe not even tomorrow, but...

He sighed, crumpling in on himself.

“Why do you always have to overthink everything?” he snapped weakly, then instantly regretted it, when even though there was no real fire in iteven that made Roy pull a bit away from him again, hugging himself protectively.

“S-sorry...”

Maes sighed miserably. “No, I am. Quit apologizing already; you don’t have _anything_ to apologize for. I... look, we can deal with that when we get to it, okay? Just don’t think about it for now. I’m not leaving now, and I _won’t_ until you’re okay with it, so just don’t worry-“

“Maes, right now I don’t think I could _ever_ honestly say I’d be fine with you going anywhere.”

He stopped short, stomach turning with a sick, miserable sort of sadness.

Of all the times for Roy to be honest and actually admit to needing something, it just figured, it would be now, in a way that made it feel like the colonel had just gleefully reached into his chest and ripped his heart to pieces.

Then he felt even worse, when just a few moments later Roy curled away again, voice dropping into a tremulous, ashamed whisper with another apology.

Something in his chest clenched, and Maes sighed, trying to find the words.

“That’s not something that matters, right now,” he finally managed, voice thick. “I... Roy. Don’t think about what has to happen later. That’s not important now, okay?” He gently put a hand on Roy’s arm, but when even the tender contact made him shudder, a small tremor of shaking build up through him again, it felt like he’d been slapped. “I know it’s hard, but I... you can do this, all right. And I _promise_ I won’t leave until you tell me I can and mean it, so for now, just stop thinking about it. You don’t have to worry about it and there’s no reason to make yourself feel worse over it now. Okay? Just... just trust me, Roy.”

It took a while to be acknowledged again. He knew Roy had heard him; felt him shaking still, cold and scarred arm tense under his hand and thin shoulders hunched, eyes squeezed shutwith the violent, keening force of each breath. Maes didn’t dare try and pull him closer again, and instead just waited, heart in his throat, and wished with everything he had that he could do something more to help him.

“Maes?” he finally asked quietly, subdued upset audible in the way his voice shook. “Is... this is real?”

His heart broke.

“...Yes,” he promised, wavering and weak, and shut his eyes. “It is.”

For what to have been the hundredth time, this past week alone, Maes found himself honestly, righteously, murderously _furious_ that he’d never have the chance to go to the monsters that had done to this to his friend and burn them alive.

“...Okay,” Roy whispered finally, head still turned away, shoulders slumped.

His voice was still so low and full of pain, it didn’t make him feel any better at all.

* * *

As things turned out, for the first time in a very long while, Lady Luck was finally on Maes’ side.

Roy didn’t actually fall asleep sitting there on the burned floor, but, when he’d finally managed to reach some semblance of calm, the severity of injury and blood loss was waiting in the wings to do Maes’ job for him. He was able to get up to unsteadily let the doctors in while his best friend leaned against the corner, only half conscious at best, then return to keep him calm with platitudes in a low voice by his ear and holding him as they cautiously drugged him again. Not something that made Maes overly happy but, well, when the _last_ time they’d tried to bandage him had ended in nearly getting burned alive, he could understand the need for caution.

Then, Maes’s well-intentioned, but likely something that’d just get _him_ a room in the psych ward as well lecture, ended up being unnecessary. Rather than threatening to shoot himself in the foot if he had to, to get a bed next to Roy’s, he found out that he wasn’t leaving, anyway; turned out doctors were not so keen with letting people who could barely stand and were covered in first degree burns just up and walk out of the hospital.

It was only a temporary fix, he thought as a shaken nurse bandaged his arm, shooting furtive glances in a twitchy, nervous Roy’s direction, but it would have to do.

Maes watched him that night, when they were finally left alone. As bonelessly exhausted as he was himself, he kept his eyes open, watching as his best friend slept, some part of him dreading the eventual onset of nightmares- but whether it was how heavily he’d been drugged, or just how completely _exhausted_ he was, they never came. He tossed and turned for almost the whole night, whimpering quietly in his sleep, sometimes moaning aloud, but he never made the transition from quiet distress into agony or terror.

Finally, at some time past three in the morning, Maes gave in and closed his eyes himself, going to sleep with the sound of his best friend crying softly from the other bed over.

He did not sleep well.


	5. All Downhill

The next morning, if the early hour could even be qualified as the morning at all, when Maes woke up from a restless night of tossing and turning, he immediately saw that once again, Roy was not in his bed.

He blinked, then jerked upright, still blinking the sleep out of his eyes but instantly wide awake. A hand fumbled for his glasses as he searched around the room, teeth gritted in anxiety-

Oh.

For a moment, just a moment, he wanted to hate the poisonous wave of relief that swept through him, when he found Roy.

After all, he knew Roy didn’t deserve it, but after the past miserable six months, after the nauseating past week, after horrific previous day, Maes couldn’t help but fear the very worst, when he woke up and saw Roy just not where he was supposed to be.

Thank god, however, he quickly found that there was no reason to worry. At least, no reason to worry that Roy had off and hurt himself, attacked someone else, or continued with his old penchant for starting fires and new one carving himself with arrays.

No. Roy, rather than doing anything that would necessitated alarm, was just sitting quietly under the window, hand held up into the pale sunlight filtering through the glass. His eyes were distant and faded, blinking dully at the sight, and he was withdrawn and silent as a stone statue.

Maes swallowed.

After several still moments, the colonel utterly unresponsive to the fact that he was now being watched, Maes cautiously moved, pushing himself out of bed. He wanted to be relieved that everything was all right, at least, that the world had not devolved into chaos just because he’d not kept his eye on Roy 24/7... but something told him that just because nothing was on fire did not mean everything was okay.

Because, looking at him now, taking in the distant stare and the utter lack of.. god, _anything_ on his face told him, most certainly, that, no. He was not okay.

Maes’ legs still felt a little shaky, but now just wasn’t the time for it to matter, and if Roy could stagger his way across the room without waking him up then he could damn well make it, too. That in mind, he was able to keep himself up on his feet, and he carefully made himself cross the room, approaching Roy like a wild animal about to bolt.

“...Good morning,” he prodded at length, completely at a loss for what he was supposed to say.

Roy blinked dully at his hand again, splaying the splinted fingers he still had under the weak light.

“You stayed,” he returned finally.

There was a quiet, uncertain sort of disbelief in his voice, like he hadn’t expected or known what to make of it, and, hesitantly, Maes inched another step forward. “Y-yeah,” he stammered, mouth dry. “I told you that I would.”

Roy continued to gaze emptily down at his hand, the three fingers shaking unsteadily, then finally just dropped it limply down to his lap and sighed.

“Yeah,” he muttered, and shut his eyes.

Something tight in his chest loosened with relief, the tense set of his shoulders falling slack, and he couldn’t help but sigh aloud. He didn’t know what this was, but well, it could’ve been a hell of a lot worse, and at the moment that was all Maes could care about. His guess was that Roy had had a nightmare, somehow snapping himself out of it before waking Maes up, but... something still seemed _off._ “I guess you couldn’t sleep,” he finally managed, cautiously lowering himself to sit next to him. For all the care Maes made in not trying to touch or startle him, the colonel hardly even seemed aware of his presence at all.

Thin shoulders tilted in a shrug, and he leaned his head back against the plaster, dark eyes fluttering shut. His pale hand fell to thump against his lap, and from here, Maes could now see that he’d worked a finger underneath the bandages, wearing open the cuts from one of the arrays.

_...It doesn’t mean anything. He wears his gloves nearly 24/7 anyway. It’s fine... it’s just so he feels safer... _

A cold sweat suddenly breaking out on the back of his neck, he inched himself a little further away, the burns on his hands and feet tingling.

“I messed up,” Roy admitted suddenly, voice small.

“...How?”

The colonel almost seemed to wither a little, sinking back against the wall to flex his wounded hands again. He ducked his head, long hair shielding his expression from view, but so small and withdrawn he was almost unrecognizable. “The first time I drew this array,” he whispered reluctantly, like he didn’t want to admit it. “I drew it wrong. I messed it up, Maes. It was supposed to kill them, but... it r-rebounded. It rebounded because I was so _stupid_ , Maes.” He shook his head despairingly, turning away from him by an inch. One of the lines of the array etched out from underneath the gauze, now; jagged, scrawled, and bleeding again. “I messed it up. The array’s built on a hexagon base but I ringed it in a double pentagon; do you know how elementary of a mistake that is, Maes? Do you know how easy it is for the energy to get stuck in an infinite loop until it reaches a critical hold and kills you? Do you know what Master Hawkeye would’ve done to me if I’d done something so stupid when I was just an _apprentice?_ ”

His voice was disturbingly young, sickened with self-loathing, face contorted in revulsion, and Maes bit his lip.

He didn’t know what this was, or what had prompted it, just that it was worrisome; he also didn’t know how to respond. No, he didn’t know anything about pentagon ring hexagonal base who’s-he-what’s-it. No, he didn’t know how elementary of a mistake that was. He did know, however, that Riza had inherited her perfectionist streak from her father, so much so the fact she only _threatened_ to shoot her superior over a typo in paperwork was a miracle, so the fact that Hawkeye would’ve probably beaten him over it really said nothing at all. He did know that mistakes that were _elementary_ to Roy were often on a level most alchemists couldn’t even hope to reach.

He did know that the fact that his friend could even have fathomed of something so complex while in that place, in probably the worst condition possible, never mind put it to use, was amazing, and he hated that Roy, rather than give himself credit for managing the nearly impossible, was going to tear himself apart because he hadn’t managed perfection.

“No, I don’t,” he answered quietly, still eying the bleeding wounds. “But I do think Mr. Hawkeye would’ve been more concerned with burning those people to death himself than lecturing you for not having perfected an array the first time you tested it.”

Roy laughed a little, subdued and shaky, but didn’t say anything.

When several moments passed, Maes cautiously began to venture a hand forward, aiming only to just stop him from touching the arrays. Somehow, though, him moving was all the provocation to get Roy talking again, the colonel bowing his head as a low, disgusted monotone lurched unsteadily from his lips. “It was supposed to kill them. It did, actually- it killed five of them. It also blew up in my face. ...They waited until I was conscious again, to break my hands for it. They wanted me to feel it.”

The way he said it, flat and uncaring, was as if this were nothing more than a discussion over paperwork.

Maes’ blood boiled, and he had to shut his eyes for a moment to breathe harshly through his mouth, reigning in the violence suddenly keening desperately just below the surface.

Next to him, Roy released another small laugh, thin form trembling with the force of it, and leaned his head back against the wall. “The second time I drew it, I messed it up, too. He... came on my face, afterwards. He said he wanted to watch me taste it.” He turned an inch away again, ignorant to the fact that Maes was gaping as if he’d just been struck.

His mind had just stuttered to a halt, blank and stuck. He gaped and stared, utterly horrified and in shock- and Roy just shrugged and kept his eyes turned away, like this was nothing that even qualified as abnormal to him.

It was a nauseating realization when Maes understood that it probably wasn’t.

Warm color had crept up Roy’s neck when his voice faltered, flushing his cheeks, and as shocked as he was by the sudden dark turn, it took Maes several moments to realize he was _embarrassed_ , by the sickening facts he’d said aloud. Embarrassed to admit what had been done to him.

He probably should’ve said something then, he’d reflect later, shaken him and pressed that he had _nothing_ to be ashamed of, but he was too sick with horror and stunned with disbelief to respond. Instead he just _sat there_ like a worthless lump as Roy’s terrifying, sickening monologue continued, hands twisting together in his lap, voice low- and cheeks faintly pink.

“He was so preoccupied with watching my face he didn’t realize I was drawing the array with my foot. I’d practiced it, so many times, I could do it, and there was blood on the sheets and I just- I didn’t even think, Maes. I never meant... I didn’t even realize I’d done it until he was on fire. ...All I was thinking was finally being allowed to sleep afterwards. I didn’t even care about what he was doing or trying to make him stop, I just wanted to sleep. To just... not be there, for a while. Then he- he _did_ stop, because I made him, and I was too surprised to even fucking move. I just sat there and watched him die.”

Maes stared, horrified.

He didn’t think he’d ever heard anything more shocking, or felt anything more painful, in his life.

And Roy, for his part, just gave a tiny little shrug again, a dry smile playing at the corners of his mouth, and laughed. “I was too stupid to use the damn thing when they realized what I’d done. I just watched him die, then just watched when the others showed up and stopped me. I didn’t even think of using it against them... I wasn’t even thinking at all.” He shrugged again, broken fingers now fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “And it didn’t matter, really, that I hadn’t meant to do it. I honestly never _meant_ to draw it, Maes... but it didn’t matter. I’d killed a customer. Cost them thousands. ...They... weren’t happy.”

His heart stuttered painfully, mind finally kicking into gear again, and his mouth suddenly went dry. For a moment, his head was blank of any comprehension, just sickened revulsion. But the gears kept turning no matter how much he didn’t want to, and like a bolt of lightening on a blue day, the terrifying connection was made with such stomach-dropping horror it could’ve been a physical blow. Roy’s words, and then, from here, how all he could really see of the other man was his thin back and the stitched wounds that emerged from underneath his collar- but- _no..._

Maes instantly cursed himself for even thinking it, because _god_ , did he not want to know, but Roy was still talking, and Maes wasn’t going to make him stop. But part of him suddenly wanted to hold his hands over his ears, and an even bigger part of him was suddenly begging for him to get up and run from the room like his life depended it on when Roy shrugged again, dull eyes distant, listless monotone filling the room like a toxic, suffocating cloud of poison.

“They didn’t like to whip us. It scars, you understand. And scars aren’t pretty. But Master was quite upset- apparently, he was a frequent customer... paid handsomely. Decided taking my hands wouldn’t be enough of a lesson, this time... animals need to be taught not to misbehave, after all; beat the tar out of them until they get it through their thick skulls what they can and can’t do, and what’s a fucktoy but an animal with a human face, anyway...?”

Roy laughed again, and this time, it wasn’t quiet.

It was hysterical. Stricken. Mad.

Maes tasted bile.

He also tasted black rage, and had to shut his eyes for a moment, again breathing hard through his mouth with the urge to hit something.

“...Roy,” he managed, when he could speak without needing to force it through gritted teeth _(shut up, Maes, just shut up, you don’t want to know, you don’t want to know)_ “That- wasn’t... was that... when we rescued you, there were- on your back, there were... the doctor said...”

It was almost ironic, that he couldn’t even find the strength to _say_ the horrible things, but there Roy was, remembering going through it all without so much as a flinch. He nodded listlessly against the wall, eyes still focused away from him, and something in Maes just curled up and died, at the unresisting, accepting defeat in that expression.

“It was that morning,” he murmured softly. “...Probably. They... didn’t exactly tell me how much time had passed.”

And, thus, Maes suddenly understood just _why_ Roy had been in such a state, when they’d finally found him.

With a muffled groan, rage and sorrow warring for dominance inside him, his blood chilled with disgust and horror, Maes found himself unable to help reaching over, touching a hand to Roy’s thickly bandaged arm. “I’m... so sorry,” he whispered lamely, feeling almost ill- but once again, it was as if Roy didn’t even care.

“I drew it on purpose, this time,” he said, sighing. “But I fucked it up now, too. It was supposed to kill me. But I couldn’t do it, Maes; can you imagine that? After the number of people I’ve burned to death, I was actually scared to feel it myself. It’s pathetic, isn’t it? I couldn’t kill them when I tried, I couldn’t even kill myself. But I had no problem attacking you or anyone else with it.” He hesitated, bandaged, incomplete hands winding together in his lap. “You know, when I woke up, all I wanted to do was look out the fucking window. I just wanted to see the sun. But when I got over here, I couldn’t even look at the sky. All I could see was the people outside. How easy it’d be... I could’ve killed all of them, even from here, Maes. It’d be so easy. Th-they... just looking at them... it scares me to death, Maes. How many of them they are... what they could do to me..." He glanced away, voice trembling in a weak, ashamed admission of terror. "...Part of me wants kill them, Maes.”

At Maes’ sharp intake of breath, Roy laughed weakly again, shutting his eyes behind a veil of dark, tangled hair. “I’ll shy away at killing myself because I don’t want to know how it feels, but that mother and her newborn outside, Maes? If they stepped through that door, that part of me just... wants to snap, and not take that risk. I don't- _can't-_ take that risk. I... I wouldn't even hesitate, Maes... I would burn them alive.”

He smiled grimly again, a loose, almost unhinged sort of thing. His eyes were still distant, unreflective of anything but a dazed stupor, and his smile stretched again, broadening as one of the most miserable things he’d ever seen.

“Hey,” he snapped, instinct driving the word, and if he sounded angry and not brokenhearted, well, he just didn’t have it in him right now to care. “Roy.” Without waiting any further, he firmly but gently grasped the man’s wrist, pulling his hands apart to stop him from digging at the marks on his skin again. That finally interrupted, he loosened his grip a little, gently holding the man’s hand in his lap and rubbing his thumb over his palm, waiting a little to both let Roy calm down and get himself calmer, too, before he went on.

Once upon a time, Maes would’ve punched him, for talking like that.

But something this is horrifying and perverse was not _once upon a time_ , and as it was, both the things Roy had been through and the things Maes found _himself_ now wanting to do to those _monsters_ were not something ever read in a fairytale before, and it took all his self control to just close eyes, breathe out calmly, and find his voice again.

“You killed people. People, who had done horrible, inhumane things to you, and who probably would’ve done so again. People that I’m glad you killed, accident or not, because you saved me the trouble of hunting them down and doing it myself. They were wastes of oxygen and no one will fucking miss them.” He held Roy’s hand tighter, refusing to get disheartened when he didn’t so much as get a look in return. “As for now... I think both of us have been nearly killed enough times, startling each other after we got home from Ishval, for you to know what I’m going to say, Roy.”

Roy said nothing to that, but one of his hands hesitantly lifted to tangle in his hair, grabbing it in a vice like grip to tug violently, trembling, and Maes sighed.

“Don’t think about it now,” he murmured at last, and almost wanted to laugh at himself, shake his head at the ludicrous absurdity of such advice, hate himself for being so useless that was all he could give. _Don't think about it..._ as if either of them could think about anything else. “You’ll get past it eventually. You know you will. And until you do, I’ll be here to stop you from doing anything you’d later regret, that you don’t mean. So you’ve got nothing to worry about, Roy- and _nothing_ to feel guilty over.”

He meant it, too. He’d stay glued to Roy’s side if necessary, not just to stop him from acting rashly but because at the moment he couldn’t imagine letting him out of his sight ever again.

Roy, however, just continued looking distantly at the opposite wall, and said nothing.

Maes sighed again, closing his eyes, and held Roy’s hand tighter in his lap, almost able to feel the rough scarring through the gauze. Part of him, the naturally inquisitive part that had gotten him into investigations, wanted to pry, find out what the hell that array even was and how it had somehow made Roy even more dangerous than he’d been before. The rest of him ardently told himself to shut up. Now wasn’t the time. It just was not.

He waited quietly, holding still until he felt another time had passed and Roy was calm enough to handle moving, then cleared his throat. “Come on,” he pressed softly, working himself to his feet then holding his hand out to help Roy do the same. “If you want to mope, then fine, mope. I won’t stop you, Roy. But there’s no reason you’ve got to do it on the floor.”

It took a few seconds, a few seconds of quiet no reaction and dull staring at the opposite wall, for him to finally garner a sigh, the man at last giving him his other hand. He didn’t complain, and somehow, part of Maes wished he would have as he gently hauled his best friend to his feet, and he didn’t resist as Maes tightly looped an arm around his waist to keep him there as he led him back across the room to his bed. He ignored how hard even the short journey made him shake. He ignored the rough, exhausted intake of a breath next to him, how his knees quaked as he guided Roy to sit down, just sitting on the edge of the hospital bed and leaving an arm around his shoulders, steadying and holding him.

“That’s one,” he said softly at length, squeezing his shoulders again.

Two dark eyes hesitantly lifted to meet his own, silent but unsure.

Maes held up a finger to punctuate the statement again, jaw clenching. “I’ll let you say or do whatever you want, Roy. If there’s anything that makes you feel better, or anything I can do, you won’t hear me complaining. You’ve got free reign, okay? But that stops if it becomes you trying to hurt yourself, Roy. You get a pass- _this_ time- because you didn’t realize what was going on, but that’s your only one, Roy. Next time you do something like that, I don’t care if you’re injured or not, you won’t get away with it.” He smiled wryly, with a strength he didn’t feel, and gripped Roy’s shoulder tighter again. “Okay?”

He’d hardly expected a _good_ response to that, but still, his heart sank when Roy just turned his head away, slumping over on himself so severely it surely had to pull at the wounds on his back, head in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he groaned, almost a whimper. “You s-shouldn’t have to put up with t-this- and after what I did yesterday... I’m sorry...“

Maes sighed.

“Don’t apologize,” he returned, but while it was supposed to be stern, it came out choked with grief. “Just get better, Roy.”

To that, the colonel just continued to look away, and refused to say anything.

* * *

 

After that, it would be unfair to say that Roy improved drastically.

Actually, it would almost be unfair to say that he improved at all, but at this point, anything was better than his drained, absent, nonexistent state as before. So, yeah, he improved.

Unfortunately, better than catatonic was just about all that could be said for him.

He was just... in shock, Maes decided. That was the only way to describe it. The quiet staring, the uncertain fiddling, the empty gaze. He just didn’t seem to know what to do with himself or what he was supposed to do, suddenly and abruptly free when he’d surely expected to die there. Maes tried talking to him, of course- tried anything he could to draw his best friend out from that silent, nervous shell- but it was hard going, to say the least. 

After only failed one attempt, the doctor started just handing off sedatives for him to slip to Roy, whenever they had to examine him. It was very clear that asking him to be still and passive and just lie there, letting whatever the doctor had to do happen without complaint, was just too much; in fact, Maes thought Roy also seemed to welcome the drugs whenever they came, painfully, agonizingly relieved for the chance to just not be there for a little while.

But then came the nightmares; long suffering affairs that left Maes not getting any sleep at all. Every night without fail, quiet moans escalating into heartwrenching screams when Maes shook him awake, melting into muffled whimpers and anguished sobs the half an hour or more after when Roy would refuse to so much as look at him, shoulders hunched and head buried in his knees and gasping so hard he nearly made himself sick. One minute he’d be shoving Maes away, so violently he nearly hit the floor; the next clinging tightly, grasping at the hem of his shirt and desperately begging him to stay- then the next morning he’d be withdrawn and silent again, muttering out a curt apology or two and that was that. 

If Maes didn’t catch the nervous fear becoming urgent relief, every time Roy woke up and looked over and found him still there, he wouldn’t have known what to make of it at all. 

As difficult as making progress was, though, Maes was still trying. He refused to let Roy sit over there silently for too long; it wasn’t good for him, and he wasn’t going to leave his best friend hidden behind those layers of hurt and abuse for any longer; at least, not without doing his damnedest to drag him out. He talked to him desperately, about anything and everything he could think of, anything that was not what had happened to him, and with every reluctant, mumbled response he pounced on it and pursued it further, refusing to let that be the end of it. He was sure he was starting to annoy Roy, actually, with his incessant refusal to leave him alone and let him be quiet...

But, at this point, Maes would actually welcome his best friend snapping at him to shut up.

At least that would be something familiar. At least that would be something like Roy, instead of this quiet, absent creature that looked so miserable it was all Maes could do to not give up and just be miserable with him. 

It was during the second day Maes finally managed anything resembling progress. Roy had taken to one his black moods again, spurred on by the small, diminutive nurse bringing lunch and refusing to depart even though she’d left at least ten minutes ago. Once again, Maes refused to leave him alone, no matter how exhausting it was trying to converse with Roy’s back, or how purposeless it felt when his only answers were cold and flat.

“I’m just _saying,_ Roy, if you would only give it a try, it wouldn’t be so bad,” he prodded insistently, sounding far, far more upbeat than he felt. “How can you say it’s stupid if you don’t even try it?”

Roy didn’t look very inclined to respond to him, but when Maes purposefully left the question hanging, gaze weighing on him in a way that was impossible to ignore, he finally got an exhausted, drained sort of mumble back. “Because I will not _try_ stalking the city with a camera before I determine it to be a senseless, illogical obsession, Hughes.”

Maes was too relived at the answer- quiet, dead monotone though it was- to smirk. “It is not _stalking,”_ he corrected gently, trying to sound affronted but failing horribly. “It’s impossible to stalk your own wife.”

Slowly, Roy lifted his head, just a little, raising his eyes to give him a sidelong glance through his hair. It was a dark look, amusement barely able to be found underneath the deadened irritation about being forced to answer. But it _was_ there, no matter how faint or weak, and at the sight his heart gave a joyful squeeze of sheer relief.

“Well... so, maybe you can. But, come on. You know I’m not stalking Gracia. All I’m saying is you should try it some time.”

“...You’re... suggesting I stalk your wife.”

“...Well, no, not until you twisted it like that, idiot.”

Roy watched him for a moment longer, blinking dully, then just sighed and turned his head away again. “Mmm,” he mumbled, and went back to poking disinterestedly at his food.

Maes hesitated, his own smile fading now that Roy could no longer see it. He knew it’d be a work in progress, it always was, with Roy- but it was still disheartening to see him withdraw back into himself so quickly.

Well, he’d already known this was going to take time.

After several moments, Maes opened his mouth to tell Roy to quit picking and eat already, then bit his lip, keeping silent. Hospital food was one standard of low quality; Maes remembered that very well, after being treated to it himself these past two days- the bland and nasty looking gruel and soups they were giving his best friend, waiting until he’d gained some weight back to allow anything more substantial, were something else entirely. Even if Roy had been his old self, he would’ve turned his nose up at it; it felt especially cruel, to Maes, to insist on it now, when, by the looks of him, it had been probably months since he'd had anything halfway decent...

Besides, something about the quietly miserable, resigned look in his eyes whenever Maes would inevitably win the inevitable argument about getting him to eat was heartbreaking. He didn’t want to see it again.

After a few hesitant moments, still biting his lip in uncertainty, Maes just shook his head at himself and got to his feet.

Roy didn’t look at him as he crossed the room, nor did he raise his head when he came to a stop beside him. He bit his lip, hesitating again, then cleared his throat and nudged his friend’s shoulder. “Here.”

Once again, it took him a few moments to get a response, and that was only if he could call the hesitantly lifted, dull, dark gaze to watch him out of the corner of his eye to be a response.

Gritting his teeth, Maes made himself smile again and, once more, nudged his shoulder.

“Go on. Take it. ...You’ll enjoy it more than me, anyhow.”

Roy blinked. Slowly, disbelievingly, his blank eyes drifted between Maes, and the small plate of spinach quiche.

“...Just eat it before the doctor comes back and yells at me for it, okay.”

Slowly, Roy looked in between him and the quiche again.

Then his face lit up like a light, and his exhausted eyes were abruptly so bright with eager joy Maes almost wanted to cry.

Roy didn’t say anything to him again, too busy attacking the meal like a parched man who’d finally stumbled upon an oasis to talk, and even after was too occupied with nervously looking down at his feet again to say anything- but that faint, intensely grateful smile never left, and for the first time in days, Maes felt like he’d finally done something right.

* * *

 

And just like that, progress was progress.

Slow, stumbling steps each day, each one taking Maes just a bit closer to somebody he could recognize as his friend and away from the protective, withdrawn husk that was anything but. It was hard going and every time Maes managed to make a little progress, it seemed to be just before a giant step backward- but it was undeniable that Roy was getting better.

The third morning, the day after he’d given Roy the quiche, he’d found himself feeling better than he had in days. Roy wasn’t really looking at him still, and if Maes hadn’t been nearly constantly prompting him, he probably would’ve been silent again- but something about him looked less nervous, less frightened, than before, and Maes just couldn’t help a weak grin as he watched his friend out of the corner of his eye.

“Did you know they’re talking about actually promoting her to corporal now?” he asked lightly, continuing his nearly one-sided discussion about Scieska. “I tell you, Roy, she nearly had a heart attack when I told her. She’d have to go through basic training. I told her if I ever saw her armed I’d be running as fast as I could in the opposite direction... she didn’t blame me.”

It could hardly be called a smirk, the small, amused thing that twitched across Roy’s mouth, but it was something, at least. “I think,” he muttered quietly, darkly, “if you can handle watching me learn Flame Alchemy, you can handle her with a firearm.”

In his chest, something loosened. Roy wasn’t even looking at him, but it was something that almost felt like normal, and he gratefully went after it with a thankful smile Roy didn’t even see. “Quiet, you. Don’t pretend like you wouldn’t do the same.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“You would.” With another relieved sigh, Maes pushed himself into sitting on the edge of the bed, still watching Roy out of the corner of his eye. “Although thank you for reminding me, how stupid I was as a teenager. I watched you blow shit up because I was a reckless idiot who thought I was invincible, not because I thought you wouldn’t mess up. I’m lucky I didn’t get killed.” He shook his head ruefully, unable to help but miss far simpler times than this one.

Finally, as if realizing how ridiculous it was for Maes to carry on a conversation with his back- or just resigned to the fact that he wasn’t going to shut up- Roy started to turn over onto his other side, movements slow and painful and gaze darting over anything but him. “That’s not my fault. I warned you beforehand how dangerous it’d be...”

“Are you kidding? I was a sixteen year old boy. _Hey, Maes, want to come watch me set things on fire? Oh, sure, might be dangerous but, hey-_ _fire!_ ” He snorted, rolling his eyes. “You knew damn well what you were doing. You just wanted an audience.”

“...I didn’t sound like that,” Roy sighed, finally settling his gaze on his hands. “Too bratty.”

Maes rolled his eyes fondly. “Not bratty enough.” Utterly, almost painfully relieved about how well this was going, he started to push himself to his feet, tentatively testing the waters further. His legs swayed on him again and he gritted his teeth, waiting through the swoon until he could manage to reach for the change of clothes the nurse had left him.

“I had no idea it was this bad for you alchemists,” he prodded lightly, still just talking to fill the silence. “I mean, I remember how tired you all always got, back in Ishval, but I guess I just never realized how bad it actually was... I can’t believe none of you ever passed out on the field.”

Roy was still for several seconds, blinking dully down at his injured hands with absolutely no indication he’d even heard him. But at last he raised his shoulders in a tiny shrug, fingers twitching. “It wasn’t as bad,” he said in a hoarse, near whisper. “You have it worse. It’s worse, when you don’t know what you’re doing. The more you practice, the less being worn out affects you.” He shrugged carelessly again, now fiddling idly with the sheets and still not so much as looking at him. “Ed should’ve warned you.”

Maes rolled his eyes, letting the comment pass. Ed was probably lucky he’d made himself scarce; Roy was not happy with him. But Maes was just glad Roy was talking, even if it was complaints about the kid who’d damn near saved his life, just three days previously. “So, what, I should keel over a couple dozen more times before I finally start coping with it?” he grumbled, smirking- a beaming, relieved smile that he’d gotten an answer probably not the best way to encourage him to keep talking. It’d probably just irritate Roy into silence again. “And I’m reminded, once again, why I’m of the opinion that the whole lot of you State Alchemists are idiots. You’ll kill yourselves for it, but all it’s ever done is give me a headache.”

“...’S not useless,” Roy murmured dryly, still futzing disinterestedly with the sheets. “You just never were good at it. Never understood that. You’re smarter than most of the alchemists I know...” He trailed off into a tiny shrug, eyes still averted. “We’re not idiots, though.”

Maes smiled weakly again. “Sure you are. You’re my idiot, though. So you’re allowed.”

Again, it took several moments for him to evidently decide replying was worth even that minute effort it took, and he still didn’t really look at him. “If I’m your idiot, then what does that make Gracia?”

It didn’t sound like the lighthearted comment it once would’ve. It sounded like Roy had just said it because he’d known it had been expected of him, nothing more, as dry and without feeling as a stiff salute or a toneless _yes, sir_. Like he knew Maes would nag until he got him to say something, so he’d just drug a response up and spat it out, but he would’ve been far more content to just sit there in silence until he died.

Clenching his jaw, Maes had to wait for several moments to ensure his voice would be steady, before he continued after that one.

“Oh, will you hush. She was never my idiot. You’re just jealous of my better half.” He yawned, scrubbing at his face, and continued to pretend like this was normal, like this was just a normal everyday conversation, not in a hospital, not with Roy _like this_ , like everything was fine. Swallowing, he switched topics, since the first had not been dragging him out of his empty stare as well as he’d hoped. “I wonder if she’d bring something for us, if I asked,” he prodded again, smiling gently. “Pretty sure we’ll both end up with food poisoning, if we keep eating that drek they call food here.”

It wasn’t actually a serious suggestion. While he was quite honest about the quality of the fare here, leaving the room to call his wife was a little bit out of the question... and he certainly wasn’t going to ask a nurse to do that for him. It smacked of taking advantage, and treating her like the way so many of the generals treated their wives; a pretty trophy to cook, clean, and be at his beck and call. But Roy frowned down at his hands like it had been more than just an absentminded afterthought, eyes narrowing. “ _You_ don’t have to eat it,” he said quietly after several moments, blinking dully at the alchemic scars along the lengths of his arms. “What’re you complaining about?”

Maes sighed. “Well, unlike what you seem so content with doing, I actually _do_ have to eat something. So, yes, Roy, I do have to eat it.”

“Call your wife,” Roy grouched darkly at him, clearly not amused at the jab and not about to answer to it. “Or call Ed. Or somebody. You have all the contacts in the world; I’m sure you know someone who’d be willing to bring you food.”

“Only to have you steal it, then have your nurse yell at me, _again_. No, thank you.”

Finally, Roy actually lifted his head to glare at him, life sparking in his eyes in the form of a blessedly familiar irritation. “I stole nothing. I didn’t even ask for it. You ass.”

“Well _excuse me_ for the nice gesture! You certainly didn’t seem to mind yesterday. But, I should’ve known that would come back to bite me.” He smiled gently at that rather than roll his eyes, not sure how much of their normal back and forth teasing to risk, not wanting to accidentally make this newly fragile, insecure version of his best friend think he truly minded. 

But Roy just grumbled something unintelligible back at him, glaring again through his hair, and the familiarity of the gesture made Maes have to turn his face away, hiding the relieved, exhausted smile that he was sure his friend wouldn’t appreciate as a response. Because he _was_ relieved. It still wasn’t anything like his best friend, at least, not the man he remembered... but there _were_ pieces he recognized of him, somewhere in there, and he kept finding more and more of those pieces by the day. And with each one, the gaping wound inside him that had been torn the day Roy Mustang had been declared dead, the one ripped agonizingly open again when he’d found his best friend chained and bleeding and the floor of that warehouse, healed a little more. 

It was quiet for a few moments, Maes biting his habitually quick tongue, knowing whatever he said now had to be carefully guarded. He was still searching for the next safe topic of conversation, anything to just keep Roy talking and not thinking about things he shouldn’t be thinking about, when the other man hesitantly cleared his throat, looking down towards the sheets again.

“Maes?” he ventured cautiously, voice small. “...What day is it?”

He blinked, momentarily thrown by the odd question. It took several seconds of mental calculation for him to shrug, biting his lip. “Not too sure, actually,” he confessed reluctantly. “We... the raid was on the tenth. So, I imagine it’s around the twentieth, now. Why?”

Roy hesitated again, still not looking at him. His hand suddenly fiddled nervously with the sheets, head turned away so his dark hair completely shielded his face; when he finally spoke again, his voice was even smaller than before. “I... m-meant the... month.” 

Maes stopped, mouth falling open before, with a jerk, he snapped it shut.

Oh. 

Roy nervously futzed with the sheets again, winding them around the three fingers on one hand, and turned a little more firmly away, as if embarrassed by the question- and Maes’ stomach turned, throat tightening with such sudden sorrow he almost couldn’t answer.

“...It’s June,” he finally managed faintly, voice trembling. “...June twentieth.” 

Roy went still, head still down.

“...Oh.” 

The colonel fell silent again, leaving the leaden word to weigh quietly on the air. Maes could suddenly barely look at him, his own guilt and sickened sorrow begging him to turn away. When Roy finally raised his head again, leaning back just enough for Maes to see his face, pale and expressionless- somehow, that just made him feel even worse.

“I turned thirty,” was all Roy said- with a tiny, sick smile. 

They were both silent for several moments, Maes left wordless and too sick with guilt to speak. Roy, meanwhile just sat there and stared blankly, slowly processing the fact that some time during the six months he’d been imprisoned, he’d had an actual fucking _birthday_ and just had never known. That he’d actually been gone for _six months_. Maes had known, of course... had known very well just how old his friend was. The day he'd turned thirty had been one of the worst, these past six months... he hadn't slept a wink, pouring over the case file and one too many glasses of whiskey, an ever present knot of guilt and anguish in his stomach- god, it had never occurred to him that Roy just... hadn't known. He kicked himself for it in retrospect, because of  _course_ he hadn't; what, did he think those  _bastards_ had thrown him a fucking party?! But he'd just never realized...

Maes swallowed the lump in his throat, fists clenching tightly in his lap, and said nothing.

And finally, with a chilling sort of grim finality, Roy raised his head, and smiled again.

“Well,” he announced, “I guess what they say is true. It really is all downhill, after twenty-nine.”

He laughed quietly, a high-pitched, nervewracked sound, and the only word Maes had for the look on his face then was simply _unhinged_. 

“Though, really... I think what Grumman meant, when he said that, was a few grey hairs and a wrinkle or two. Don’t you think, Maes?" He grinned again. "Because I really don’t think being fucked in half was the thirtieth birthday party he had in mind!”

Maes sucked in a breath through gritted teeth, eyes widening in horrified revulsion and disgust. “Roy!”

“What?” his friend laughed at him again, glancing over at him with wide, unmistakably _amused_ eyes. “It’s true, isn’t it?” He continued to laugh and shook his head, then lifted one of his bandaged hands and, with a burst of electric blue light from behind the gauze, created a tiny, flickering flame in the air, like a candle over his palm. At the sight of it Maes finally jerked into motion, throwing himself over the side of the bed to rush and put it out- but the black, chilling stare in his friend’s eyes shocked him to his core and left him frozen in place. He swallowed, gritting his teeth, and watched the red and orange flame cast a flickering shadow over his sallow face, dark eyes staring into the heat and seeing something far beyond this room.

Finally, with another quiet laugh, he sang in a tuneless murmur, “Happy birthday to me.” And he blew the flame out.

Then he looked back at Maes again, grinning still, and that empty, sick amusement in his eyes again pierced him through to his core. “I guess I should’ve made a wish, huh? Too late now. Though, I suppose it hardly matters...” He broke off into a high-pitched sort of giggle, nervous and almost hysterical. “I should have everything I want now, right? _Right_ , Maes? I’m alive, I’m here, for some reason I can’t fathom _you’re_ still here as well- hell, it’s just a skip and a hop and we’ll have Colonel Roy Mustang’s triumphant return! The women of Central will be so thrilled.” He leaned his head back, horribly thin shoulders shaking with the force of the high-pitched, manic laughter. Each new burst of amusement left him choking it out, voice breaking and eyes wild, and he shook his head again, smile trembling. “What else am I supposed to wish for at this point, a fucking pony?!”

Finally, stomach churning, blood run cold with horror, Maes forced himself forward, legs shaking and mouth dry as he approached Roy and broke his gaze, desperate to look anywhere but that haunted, shattered stare. Instead, he grabbed Roy’s bandaged hand out of the air and yanked it closer, turning it over to inspect the gauze and swearing when he saw the alchemy had left the scabs broken and bleeding again. “Damn it, Roy, I told you to quit that! You can’t keep using those arrays; you’ll never let them heal!”

“Oh?” the colonel laughed, tilting his head back again, his chest shaking. “And what’s the point, Maes? Are you worried? I’m already a complete and utter mess, what’s a few more scars, hmm? Oh, _yes_ , I forgot; scars aren’t _attractive_. They’ll pay less if you’re covered in scars, no one wants an ugly fucktoy-“

“ _ROY!_ ” 

Finally, he stopped talking.

Maes’ stomach turned as Roy dropped off of into a dead silence, staring blankly into space, eyes empty and thin shoulders still trembling. But thank god, he’d gone quiet, stopped saying things that Maes never wanted to hear and couldn’t bear to acknowledge. And he couldn’t bear to see those haunted eyes, either; several still moments of staring at his friend and seeing that deadened look haunting his face and Maes forced himself to turn away, throat tight. He roughly grabbed the man’s hand out of the air again, pressing it between his palms tightly to try and stop the bleeding and staring at the reddened gauze instead, too sick to speak.

Roy quietly, passively, let him. 

Neither spoke. Roy stared blankly down at his lap, cold, bony hand gripped in both of Maes’, and Maes just looked at his palm, waiting for it to stop bleeding. He desperately wanted to just- _not do this_. Not somehow silence the part of him that wanted to scream, not look at this pale, haunted shadow staring into space that looked fragile enough to shatter with one wrong word, not think about the things Roy, his _best friend_ , had said...

_ God, Roy... _

Finally, some time in the dead silence, Roy stopped bleeding, and he loosened his hold. He still couldn’t bring himself to look at Roy and stared down at the floor instead, still almost nauseous with misery and revulsion.

Roy yanked his hand back, shoulders hunching. “Don’t _touch me_ ,” he hissed, clutching his hand to his chest as if he’d been burned, then abruptly slumped, curling in on himself and turning his head away. “...S-sorry.”

It took him several seconds to shake his head, still unable to bring himself to meet Roy’s eyes. “I... no, it’s... it’s okay. It’s... fine.” He let his hand drop and stumbled a step back in the same motion, chest tight and heart aching. “It’s f-fine, buddy...”

No. It wasn’t fine. It wasn’t even close.

And Roy, quite apparently, seemed to agree with that unspoken sentiment, when he turned onto his other side and refused to answer him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;_; i spend weeks trying to figure out what i want this chapter to say, fail completely, and end up posting basically a filler chapter... so sorry. everything else is already planned out and'll be much better...


	6. Checkmate

It took a few more days before Maes was able to tentatively leave that hospital room, first on a short trip to make several phone calls or one brief rendezvous with Gracia- who had been amazingly understanding about all of this, bless her- then, hesitantly, leaving Roy alone for an entire night. He could tell his friend wasn’t too pleased about it, and to be honest, Maes had been far from happy himself.

But it had been necessary, and, in the end, there’d just been no other recourse except to just give up and do it.

Thank god, however, their fears ended up unfounded, both of them, in what had to be the first sign of real improvement since he’d woken up. He’d made it through the night, and, with that, Maes found himself finally able to leave the hospital himself while his friend hesitantly allowed himself to acclimate to the fact that he could be alone and still survive. That he was safe now and that was the way it was going to stay.

And with that...

Well, he stopped getting worse, at least.

But it still took Maes almost a week after that one positive change to admit to himself that Roy was not getting better, either.

He would answer direct questions, but that was about as far as he would go, speech wise. He quit eating unless Maes was there to make him. He quit moving around the room, quit fighting the doctors, quit picking at the alchemic scars on his arms- quit _everything._ He’d follow direct orders, but that was the only way to get him to do _anything-_ and when Maes figured out the only reason he was even eating was because the nurse told him to do so, both he and the doctor made her quit doing it. The doctor insisted it would do no good to have him be discharged from the hospital only to starve to death only because no one was there to make him eat; that it was a form of regression, and stopping it now would be far better than stopping it later.

For Maes’ part, it just felt far too much like forcing his friend to do something he didn’t want to do, and he didn’t think he could stomach it.

And aside from following direct orders and answering direct questions...

Well, he didn’t _do_ anything besides that!

He’d sleep, most of the time, still starved and in constant pain and exhausted because of it. But when he was awake, he’d just sit huddled into a small ball against one of the corners of the bed, arms wrapped around himself and legs pulled up to his chest, and... do nothing. The first few times Ackerman had seen it, he’d told the colonel to lie back down, that he was stressing the injuries on his back, and Roy had done it- when Ackerman had realized what was going on and stopping ordering it, Roy had stopped responding. He’d just sit like that and stare for hours on end, looking simply totally overwhelmed, as he could not believe still that he was free.

It had only been a week, since he’d managed to leave Roy by himself, but Maes was worried and frustrated, to say the least.

He kept getting his hand on scalpels- how the _hell,_ Maes didn’t even know; the nurses had been told to not bring any in the room, maybe he was transmuting some- and at some time during the night would wear open the arrays marking his pale arms again. The next morning a nurse would come in and almost always, without fail, find the sheets stained with blood and Roy, asleep, cradling the new injuries to his chest like a security blanket.

Maes had tried to get him to say why. Gently at first, then shouting at him once, in one ill-fated loss of temper when Roy had just sat there and blinked to all his quiet inquiries. He’d never gotten an answer.

He didn’t know what to make of it. He just knew it could not be a good sign.

Maes tried to get Roy to talk to him when he got like that, so silent and still and damn near unresponsive; sometimes about his ordeal, sometimes trying to distract him by engaging him in conversation about Elicia, or Ed, or even alchemy- something that bored Maes to tears, but he knew how easy it was for his friend to become engrossed by it. But Roy remained only barely responsive, at best. Sure, he answered direct questions, in a monotonous mumble- and that was it. He wouldn’t say anything else.

One day, Maes was showing him pictures of Elicia, trying to provoke a reaction other than a tired blink out of him as he flipped through a stack of her and one of her friends on a playdate. He’d been talking for at least ten minutes, and it was getting a little wearisome, trying to pretend like this was a conversation when he might as well have been talking cheerfully at a mirror, for all the answers he was getting, but he tried hard to keep the frustration and aggravation from bleeding into his voice, certain that his friend would not react well to it.

“And look at this one, buddy... Elicia’s showing her friend how to play on the swingset! Isn’t she just precious? So kind, so generous... isn’t she just _perfect,_ Roy?”

His friend flinched.

Other than that, the question that would’ve before gotten a groan, or a grumble, or an eye roll, or a sighed, _sure, just get out of my face, will you..._ now just got nothing besides a flinch.

Maes frowned.

“...You do that a lot,” he remarked a loud, and slowly lowered the stack of pictures to sit on the bed. “You flinch when someone says your name.” It was the first time that he’d realized it, but now that he thought back on it, it was true- no matter who was talking, if they called him by his first name, it would almost certainly elicit a dead-eyed cringe. He tilted his head to the side, watching him; Roy continued to stare straight ahead, calm and silent, as if he hadn’t even heard him speak at all.

He bit back another groan of frustration. “ _Why_ do you do that, Roy?” he pressed. Part of him didn’t want to make him answer, but another part of him said that Roy would never say _anything,_ nowadays, if it wasn’t dragged out of him like this- and how could just talking make him worse?

Roy flinched again and looked at his feet.

But, as obediently as if it’d been an order from the Fuhrer, he answered.

“The second thing Master did was brand us. ...The first thing he did was take our clothes away and make us watch as he burned them- then he burned us.” He paused for a moment, expression still blank as he looked down at the thin hospital gown, tugging a little at it. “...This is the first time I’ve had anything to wear. It... feels strange.”

The morbidity of the statement chilled him, but before he could say something, Roy quickly shook himself, as if only then realizing what he’d just said, and immediately began to speak again, dark eyes still downwards. “He said that he burned our clothes to teach us that we were subhuman, and he burned us to teach us that we belonged to him. That we only existed as his property. My number’s 5-5-7-2. ...If he asked you who you were and you said your old name, he’d kick you until you passed out, and you wouldn’t get any food for a week. Then he’d come back and ask you again. I... I think it took me four times to... to give up and say the number. I know they had to stop midway through twice because I was going to starve to death.”

Maes gut twisted horribly, and he nearly drew away, fighting tears and pity. He only left his hand on Roy’s arm because he worried on what his friend would take rejection to mean; inside, he’d gone numb with horror- but Roy, utterly unaffected and uncaring, just kept talking in that flat, ceaseless monotone that chilled him to the core.

“Customers would get to look at all of us before telling Master which one... or one _s_. The ones who asked for 5-5-7-2 were...” He paused for a moment, looking away, seeming to be having difficulty of putting what he wanted to say into words. Then he abruptly switched to a different sentence without having ever finished the first. “The ones who recognized me, though... as Flame... as R-Roy Mustang... they...”

Ruined hands clenched into painful fists over the bedsheets, and Maes stared in rising revulsion.

“...When they look at you as someone who used to be proud, used to be strong, used to _be someone,_ they are much more- forceful- than if you’re just a piece of warm flesh to be used. Twice it was so bad Master only let me have oral for a week after.” He touched his jaw for a moment, eyes still blank. “...After a while, I started to pray for that number. For them to say 5-5-7-2, not Mustang, not Flame, not _Roy.”_ He growled the name like it was a poisonous oath, spat it to drip from his lips like he hated the very sound, and his fists clenched again. “I’m not kidding. I prayed for it. I don’t believe in any god, no angel, no higher power... but I _prayed_ for it. Every day, I prayed not to hear my name... and that they they would kill me. ...Neither ever happened. ...At some point, I realized how pathetic I was. I was literally asking to be raped- just for it not to be someone who knew my name. That every time someone came in and ordered me like chicken off a fucking menu, that I’d gotten what I wanted, because at least they hadn’t asked for the house special.”

Rage and anguish ripped through Maes and he covered his mouth with one hand, gasping. He was horrified, and sick with sorrow; those _monsters,_ those fucking, goddamn _monsters;_ he wanted to shoot them all down like the dogs they were, wanted to scream in fury, wanted to cry in grief- but the internal turmoil left him paralyzed and just sitting there like a useless lump. Not even the words _you’re not pathetic, Roy,_ or _you didn’t ask for any of this!_ came to his lips; he just sat there, horrified and struck by such sadness he couldn’t even speak.

Roy held silent for another few moments now, lifting his arm and staring blankly at the hospital ID bracelet around his wrist, the thing bearing his name. “...I think that was when I realized that Roy Mustang was dead,” he mumbled hollowly. “...Roy Mustang would’ve burned the place and those men to the ground. 5572 would’ve sat there like a good, loyal pet and let it keep happening. I... I was 5572, Maes. They killed Roy Mustang. You didn’t save him from there, Maes. You saved 5572.”

For the first time in the entire, one-sided, horrifying conversation, Roy looked him straight in the eye.

He was still utterly devoid of any emotion... black eyes so empty it made him want to vomit.

“Roy is dead, Maes.”

His heart broke.

Before he knew what he was doing, before he’d even given it a second’s thought, Maes stood up from his chair to sit on the edge of the hospital bed instead, and he firmly wrapped his arms around his best friend and pulled him into the tightest embrace that he dared. _“No,”_ he breathed harshly, voice thick with tears. “ _No,_ Roy Mustang. You’re not dead. You’re right here. You’re right here, Roy.” A sob cracked through his best friend’s name and he dropped his head to bury it into his shoulder, trembling against him as feelings of worthlessness and being pathetic assaulted him but unable to stop crying. “You’re... you’re my b-best friend, Roy... and you’re _still here._ I promise, you’re still here. And if that’s what you need from me, if you need me to prove it to you, then I will, damn it. I’ll... I’ll d-do _anything...”_ he promised brokenly, shaking as even more tears burned in his eyes. “I’ll do _anything_ to show you it’s not true. _Anything,_ Roy! You’re still here, Roy, I promise... I pr... _promise...”_

The sob that welled up then finally broke and left him too overcome to speak. Choking on miserable grief and sorrow, Maes pulled his broken, abused best friend even closer against him and sobbed into his shoulder, too overwhelmed to pull himself together. What a pathetic excuse for a friend he was... Roy _needed_ him right now, and this was what he did? But he just couldn’t get a firm enough grip on his whole composure to stop shaking or crying, he _couldn’t;_ not knowing that the man he held right now was a shell of his former self, and his best friend was lost, almost forgotten, behind months and months of abuse and suffering.

Maes held Roy in his arms and he sobbed, and Roy just sat there like a vacant, empty shell, and let him.

* * *

Counting on three weeks in the hospital, though it had been less than two since Roy had really been conscious and talking, Maes asked him a question he’d been dreading since nearly day one.

“Roy,” he began cautiously, though if his nervous tone made his friend apprehensive at all, he didn’t show it. “From... from what you’ve said... you... you call the man in charge ‘master’.” He waited for a moment, watching him- but, as always, Roy did not respond in the slightest. Maes sighed through his nose, reminding himself to be gentle and patient. “Well, we’ve arrested all the people that held you there, but none of them are copping to being the ringleader. ...Which one is ‘master’, Roy?”

The colonel stared blankly across the room.

“...Roy?” he ventured hesitantly again, insides twisting.

Slowly, he blinked.

“...I don’t know his name,” he mumbled at length, and continued to stare at the opposite wall. “I don’t know it.”

Maes’ hopes fell. “Oh...”

Roy shifted a little, pulling the blankets tighter around him and remaining in his little protective ball. “From the beginning, he made sure we never were given any other name for him except master. I knew it was to make it so we had no choice... so we _had_ to call him that... but even knowing why he did it, after a while, only having that name to know him by- eventually, you just... start doing it. You start thinking of him as if that’s his name and even if you don’t want to, you can’t stop yourself. I didn’t want to do it. It made me sick at first, that I gave in and thought of him as that so easily. But I did it. Roy Mustang wouldn’t have, but me, 5572... I did.”

He broke off for a moment, haunted, vacant stare still held by the opposite wall, then he abruptly turned to face him again, suddenly nervous, suddenly holding himself even tighter. “I’m sorry I don’t know it, Maes,” he said earnestly, and for the first time his voice was actually infused with _emotion,_ not the dead rasp of an empty shell but the anxious plea of a desperate man. “I’m sorry I can’t help. If I knew it I promise, I’d tell you. I’m not trying to lie, Maes.”

“...I... I know you’re not,” he managed weakly, staring at him as sadness made his voice shake. “Roy, it’s okay... even if you _were_ lying, it’d be okay. You’re safe now. None of us are going to hurt you.”

Roy continued to stare at him for several seconds in blank confusion, as if he honestly didn’t understand why Maes was worried. When understanding at last hit him, it flickered through in shocked eyes as a stream of shock and shame, and then the colonel abruptly turned away from him, curling on his side under the blankets and squeezing his eyes shut. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he rasped, in answer to the question that he already knew was coming, and then fell silent.

He didn’t stop shaking for fifteen minutes.

* * *

Finally, when Roy had been conscious for over four weeks and still had yet to even venture out of his hospital room, Maes put his foot down.

It took a little bit of work, to convince Ackerman to let him do it. After all, he insisted to take the short trip at night, when all the other visitors would be gone- it was no doubt that the crowds would overwhelm Roy and leave the excursion causing far more harm than good- and, in the end, it took him pointing out that absolutely nothing they’d tried was helping. Roy hadn’t said a single word to the hospital psychiatrist, not any of the three times she’d come to visit. He’d been even less responsive than he was with Maes when Ed and Al, Hawkeye and his staff, Madame Christmas, or Gracia had visited. It wasn’t that he was so bad off so as to need a bed in the psych ward again... just that it was to the point he was starting to frighten the nurses with his dead, unresponsive stare and Ackerman was worried if they released him like this, the man would be content to literally starve to death unless someone was there to make him eat.

He wasn’t getting better, as Maes had first hoped. He’d first hoped that time was all Roy would need, to eventually start talking and smiling and _trying_ again.

But, they’d given him time, now.

And he wasn’t getting better.

When he found out about the night’s plans, Roy, as always, did as he was asked without a single word of protest.

Still, as Maes took him down the dimmed hallway, moving slowly to allow the colonel to take his time and adjust, Roy shifted to scowl over his shoulder at him. “I can walk, you know.”

Maes paused, raising an eyebrow. It was the first non-prompted comment Roy had said in days. Weeks, maybe. Swallowing back the tangible relief, he instead lifted a hand to muss his hair paternally, smiling at him. “If you want to walk, then eat more. Right now, your legs are still too weak. Besides, if I let you try and you end up falling and tearing your stitches, Ackerman will never let this fly again.”

Roy glowered at him for a moment longer, clearly stubborn, then just withered back with a huff, folding his arms. Still smiling, Maes rolled his eyes at him and continued pushing the wheelchair down the hallway, heading for the elevator.

“Where are we going?” the colonel grumbled monotonously when they reached it, arms still folded.

Maes could barely stop his grin now. It wasn’t polite or nice, but it was an actual _conversation-_ Roy saying things, asking questions, without needing to be forced into it. It was the first time this has had happened so far in _weeks_ , and Maes couldn’t have been more pleased. “Outside,” he said quietly, and even he could hear the relief as it bled into his voice.

Roy’s shoulders stiffened, his breath leaving him in a ragged exhale. He suddenly held very still, head down and eyes on his lap, saying nothing.

Maes clenched his jaw. “Just to the hospital garden, Roy... and I already checked. There won’t be anyone else there.”

“Whatever,” Roy muttered, as if he didn’t care either way. But the tension in his shoulders eased a little, and Maes sighed, wishing that he could convince his friend that if someone was bothering him, it was all right to just admit it.

But that was neither here nor there, right now, and he wasn’t going to try and press the issue. Instead, he just pushed Roy out of the elevator upon reaching the first floor, taking him through the winding corridors towards the courtyard. It was late enough that only the night staff were still in the hospital, and most were not roaming the hallways; the few nurses they encountered didn’t look at them twice, assuming they would not be so bold as to walk right in front of them if they didn’t have a doctor’s permission. Still, Roy shifted a little uncomfortably, hugging himself tighter and withering backwards, as if uneasy.

Swallowing, Maes forced himself not to say anything and just pushed the wheelchair a tad bit faster.

When they reached the hospital courtyard, that was, as he had assured him, empty, he slowed down a little, watching as his friend looked around the large, empty space uneasily, form still tense. When Roy realized it was just the two of them, he did relax a little, and Maes carefully took him towards one of the tables closer to a corner, allowing Roy to situate himself so his back was to a wall and he could see both exits and pretending not to notice. He wasn’t even sure if Roy himself was aware he was doing it. Rather, he just sat down across from him and slipped the bag off his shoulder, dumping out a chess set on to the table.

Roy blinked at him. “We’re playing chess?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.

“No,” Maes corrected. “You’re beating me at chess. But I need to brush up on my skills- Gracia wants me to teach Elicia, and since you’re the best player I know...”

Roy stared at him for a few moments, just watching him set up the bored. After a beat, he reached forward, fumbling for a black pawn with his least injured, most whole hand, gingerly grasping it and lifting it a little. “We could’ve played chess inside,” he said pointedly, still looking at the piece.

Maes paused. “...Do you want to go back?”

After several moments, the colonel simply placed the pawn down on the chess bored in its place and then reached for another piece, setting up the chess set with him in silence.

When the pieces were all in place, Maes nudged one of his pawns forward without giving the move much thought. Roy, however, frowned at him for it, head tilting again. “There’s your problem,” he murmured, not quite meeting his eyes and instead glancing past him for another cautious sweep of the courtyard. “You don’t think. Chess is a game of a strategy, not impulsivity... you’re an intelligent man, Maes; show it.”

Then he looked to his own pieces, frowning at them for a solid thirty seconds, brow furrowed, before he finally nudged one of his own pawns into play.

“...Roy?”

“Yes?”

“...You just made the exact same move as me.”

“Yes,” the colonel agreed, and the corner of his mouth raised, very slightly, into a familiar smirk. “I did. But I thought about it first.”

Maes’ heart uplifted, and in that moment, he honestly could’ve gotten up and danced a jig, he was so happy.

They traded moves mostly in silence, Roy ‘thinking’ about his game plan, Maes too distracted by his friend’s state to give a damn who won the game. As a result, Roy thrashed him, even more than usual- but it was clear the colonel was distracted, too. His eyes kept flickering away from the game and searching the courtyard for danger, and sometimes, he’d stare at the pieces for so long Maes was convinced his mind had wondered away from the present. He’d clear his throat or knock his knuckles against the table, trying to bring him back; Roy would flinch and gasp, fear flickering through exhausted eyes before he grasped himself again, and his facade returned.

Maes didn’t ask him if he was okay. Roy seemed incapable of lying to him, nowadays, and he really was not sure if he wanted to know the true answer to that question.

At some point, when the game had become Roy chasing his desperate king around the board, he glanced up from the pieces and cleared his throat. “Your doctor said he’s going to take most of the stitches out in a few days. That he’s going to let you go home after that- though he said I’d need to stay with you for a little while, to make sure you kept eating.”

Roy paused for a moment, looking blankly downwards.

When the colonel didn’t say anything, Maes broke off for a few moments, hopeful he’d speak up, then sighed and continued on, still wishing he could manage to provoke some sort of response out of him. “I’ve already talked to Gracia, and she said it’ll be okay if you take our guest room for now. I’ll talk with Elicia, make sure she understands not to climb all over you-“

Roy mumbled something, his dark eyes still on the table.

Maes stopped, brow furrowing. “...What was that?”

Roy shifted uncomfortably, still not looking up at him. “I want to go home,” he said, just barely loud enough to be heard, voice trembling a little, but declaration audible all the same.

Maes’ heart fell.

“...I want to go home, Maes,” he repeated, a little stronger, this time, but his gaze stayed downwards.

Slowly, he leaned forward, interlocking his hands over the chess board and trying to find his voice. “I understand, Roy...” he started, already reluctant to have to break it to him. “...but... well... you... you can’t.”

Roy blinked at the table again.

Maes swallowed back guilt. “It’s- look, if it was possible, I’d take you home. I would. But... well, you were missing for six months, Roy...” He finally gave in and lowered his gaze down to the table as well, unable to watch his friend through this next part. “We, um... were able to keep paying the rent on your place for three months, but, eventually...”

He heard Roy shift and catch a glimpse of him shivering out of the corner of his eye. “...Oh,” the man said at last, word heavy with defeat.

His insides clenched.

“We’ve got your stuff in storage, all of it,” he said quickly, like that was supposed to make anything better, “and you’re going to be on sick leave for quite a while. We’ll help you find a new place- maybe even in the same building as your old one, yeah? We’ll move your stuff back in and it’ll look just like your old apartment...”

Maes was babbling and he knew it, trying to make this okay when nothing would. He clenched his jaw and risked another glance at Roy to find him still staring expressionlessly at the table, shoulders slumped, dark eyes blank, and he flinched, the very sight as painful as driving a stake through his chest. And he’d been doing so much better, too... this entire trip had been helping him- he’d been talking, willingly, asking questions, he’d even _smiled_ a little! But now...

“...I’ll talk to Gracia,” he at last promised lamely, chest still tight. “She’ll set everything up so when we get back from Risembool, you’ll already have an apartment with all your things in it.” Then, he started, realizing Roy perhaps was unaware of their plans. “Oh! Right... Ed talked to me, after he visited the other day, saw your hands. He wouldn’t hear of you going to just any old automail mechanic... put in a call to the Rocbkells and explained your situation- discreetly, of course. They said they’d be happy to fix you up, free of charge- just let them know when you’re up to traveling so they can prepare. Also said most patients need to stay around a month, for the therapy after getting automail fingers- although if you’re a friend of Ed’s, she wouldn’t be surprised if you could manage it in two weeks. She said we could stay with her- normally not, but because Ed asked, and she-“

Calmly, Roy raised a hand to the chess board, nudging his black rook forward with his thumb. Maes broke off at the motion, falling into silence and lifting his gaze to find the colonel still staring at his lap, utterly expressionless. Roy pushed the rook into his king, knocking it over with a chilling clatter onto the glass, then let his hands drop to his lap and sat back in his wheelchair.

“Checkmate,” he said flatly.

He said nothing else, and his eyes did not raise to meet his again.

His heart sinking, Maes glanced from his friend to the ended game again- which, he only now realized, Roy could’ve end six turns ago. That rook had been within line of his king for at least five minutes- but Roy had allowed it to still continue on until now.

Clearly, he was done playing.

Swallowing, Maes mentally rebuked himself for bringing this whole damn topic up in the first place and hurriedly swept the pieces into a pile, unable to look at his friend. Not that he would’ve met his gaze if he had; Roy was still staring coldly at his lap, motionless and dead, drained and absent.

The empty shell was back, and his friend was gone.

Roy didn’t say a single word the entire journey back to his hospital room, and he didn’t look at him when he struggled into his bed again and turned his back, and that hurt more than anything else he’d seen that day.

* * *

After that, Maes continued to drag his friend out on this late night walks around the hospital. Despite how the first one had ended, it clearly had the potential to do good, and he was determined to help in any way that he could. And while Roy remained resistant and unresponsive at first, even his friend’s indomitable stubbornness was eventually worn down- and after only three more times, the effects began to bleed through to the day.

It wasn’t much. Maes still had to draw him into every conversation that they had; he still had to spend half an hour or more coaxing Roy to eat- though just _why_ he didn’t want to, his friend still wouldn’t say. He still didn’t dare risk leaving Roy’s side while he was asleep, only doing so when his friend was fully awake and could understand what was happening.

But, conversations became more than just a one-sided monologue. Now, Roy would actually look at him and talk back to him- not just stare downwards and only utter monosyllabic grunts whenever a response was demanded of him. He’d sometimes even smile. Once, he’d cracked a joke about Maes managing to somehow look so unkempt he was surprised no one had called a zookeeper to get the wild animal out of the hospital.

Maes had been so overjoyed he’d had to stop himself from crushing the life out of his best friend in a hug.

He wasn’t anywhere close to better.

But he was finally trying, and Maes knew that was all he could hope for.

* * *

Whether it could be considered an improvement or not- Roy still wouldn’t really talk to any of them very much, wouldn’t really _do_ anything but curl up into himself and stare at his feet unless forcibly prompted- at last, Ackerman had to concede there was no reason to keep Roy in the hospital any longer. It was very clear some sort of a breakdown was coming- but as of now, the colonel wasn’t a danger to himself or others. It was that simple. Ackerman didn’t have the power to commit him against his will no matter how much he thought Roy still needed observation, and there was no way in hell Roy would agree to a new room in the psych ward.

So at last, Ackerman had to give in, and just remove the stitches on his friend’s back- the only reason he’d been able to justify keeping Roy in the hospital in the first place.

It wasn’t the first time the wounds had been seen to, of course. It had happened once every couple of days, and after the first time, Maes had insisted Ackerman not do it unless he was present. It had been the only time Roy had broken his dead-eyed facade, and after seeing the state it put him, he couldn’t bear to leave him alone during it.

Roy would comply silently with the command to lie stiffly on his side, facing Maes, and say not a word as the nurse untied the back of his gown. He would hold perfectly still as the doctor tested the stitches and cleaned the wounds with antiseptic- which, he knew from experience, _hurt._

Roy tried to hide it. Roy tried, god, he _clearly_ tried so very hard, gave as much as he had, to pretend that it didn’t affect him. That he wasn’t in pain or scared. He _tried_ to not react.

But no matter how hard he tried, he could not stop himself from flinching away. He could not stop the briefest flicker of sheer terror through black eyes when the nurse started to pull aside the hospital gown. He could not stop the cringe of pain when antiseptic bled through wounds that had nearly gnawed down to his spine. He’d shut his eyes and bow his head, clench his teeth and fist broken, ruined hands against bedsheets, closing himself off to them all and not allowing so much as a whimper to escape his throat, but the longer the procedure went on, the more and more fear etched itself into his face- no matter how hard Maes squeezed his arm to try and keep him anchored in the present.

This final procedure was to be, by far, the worst; the stitches being removed rather than just cleaned. It took far longer, and was far more painful, than any of the others. Ordinarily, the doctor would’ve done it in several sessions, there were so many- but he’d put it off for as long as possible in order to keep Roy in a hospital bed rather than off on his own without supervision, and it all needed to be done at once.

It took barely ten minutes for Maes’ heart to shatter.

“Hang in there, Roy,” he pleaded, gripping his arm reflexively as yet another shudder tore through the colonel’s ravaged body. “You’re doing great, okay? You’re doing really well...”

There was a snipping sound as the doctor cut at one of the stitches, and Roy whimpered in the same moment, struggling to curl even tighter onto himself until the nurse stopped him with a strong hand on his shoulder, holding him still for the doctor. The unexpected touch made him flinch even harder, biting his lip and gasping out a heartbreaking, muffled cry.

“Shh... it’s okay... you’re okay, Roy, you’re okay... shh...”

The colonel’s lips moved silently, mouthing out protests and pleas that he was too terrified to say aloud. He shivered with every touch from the doctor or nurse and Maes gave his arm another a gentle squeeze, hoping to somehow get through to him that he at least wasn’t alone in this. “Come on, Roy,” he begged, voice trembling. “Focus on me, all right? Just listen to my voice. I’ve got you. I’m here, Roy... you’re okay. You’re not there anymore... you’re safe, I promise...”

The soundless gasps of breath became horrified whispers, Roy’s terror no longer enough to keep the memory silent. “N-no,” he wheezed past clenched teeth, so faint Maes barely heard it at all. “Stop... please... I- I didn’t mean to...”

His heart plunged down into his stomach. “Roy, come on,” he called, trying to yank his friend back from the nightmare he was retreating towards. “Roy, listen to me!”

But Roy could not hear him.

“I didn’t mean to, I promise... I didn’t mean to do it... I didn’t mean to, I was scared, I’m _sorry... I’m sorry..._ no, no- please-!”

Desperate and heartbroken, Maes tore himself away from his friend’s haunted visage, looking up towards the doctor. “Can you please finish this later?” he nearly begged, voice low and hushed under Roy’s pleading. “He’s- just look at him!”

But the man shook his head- even through the pained, regretful look glimmering in his dark eyes. “Sir, stopping now will only prolong the pain. I’m going as fast as I can, but stopping now won’t help him.”

“But...” He looked back towards Roy again, biting his lip. His friend’s eyes were still tightly closed, features torn with anguish, and with every single touch from the doctor or nurse he flinched so violently he’d nearly rock straight off the bed. Ackerman was right. In this state it would take him hours to calm down- only to bring the doctor back in, continue more of the procedure, then break off for several more hours only to start up again just as soon as he was calm again?

As hard as it was to watch, they had to finish it now.

Roy fluctuated being moaning and whimpering in fright, one broken and incomplete hand clutching his impossibly tightly as he tried to anchor himself in the present, to mouthing and whispering agonized pleas for respite and peace- the hand on his slack and limp, his mind, far, far away from that close, bloody hospital room. The minutes it took for the doctor to finish were some of the longest and hardest of his life; he couldn’t imagine how they passed for Roy. When the procedure was finally done, Maes could tell there was supposed to be more to the physical exam but the doctor had clearly realized that would do far more harm than good, now, and simply helped his nurse gather up the supplies as quickly as possible. “You’ll be left alone until tomorrow,” he told him quietly, voice hushed underneath the weak, broken cries, then led the way out of the room, leaving Maes alone with his best friend and the arduous task of getting through to him.

Roy remained turned stubbornly on his side, clenching the blanket in shaking fists, jawline tight. His eyes, too, remained shut, though now that he was no longer being touched, he was finally, very slowly, coming back to himself again. He curled into himself a little more under the blankets, trembling badly, mouth moving soundlessly still, but at least he finally seemed aware that he was in a hospital and not back in that bloody prison.

It still took at least five minutes for Maes to coax him into even opening his eyes.

When he finally did, bloodshot, exhausted black flickering to so cautiously, so nervously, observe the room once more, it was to free the tears welling in them.

The sight felt like a kick to the face.

“...Maes,” he whispered at last, and the wetness rolled over his eyes and began to streak down his cheeks in lines of abject misery that were so painful to witness his chest ached. “Maes... please. ...Please, I... I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

He blinked shakily again, tears rolling down gaunt, hollowed cheeks, then shut tortured eyes again and bowed his head. He held still for a moment, shoulders trembling slightly as he fought against his own grief and sorrow.

“...I don’t want to keep doing this, Maes.”

Then he doubled over in a sob, in the same moment that Maes’ heart broke.

It was a very, very fine distinction, between _I can’t do this anymore,_ and _I don’t want to._ But it was an important one, and Maes recognized it when he heard it- and it doused him with an ice cold chill that left him grounded in despair and trembling in horror.

“No... no, Roy,” he begged, and he gripped his arm even tighter then, desperately trying to get his best friend to listen to him. “No... I know you don’t want to, I know this is hard... but you have to keep trying. You can’t just _give up,_ Roy... you _can’t.”_ His voice broke, and when that made his friend’s features contort in anguish, he couldn’t take it anymore, and gingerly leaned forward to throw an arm around his shoulders and pull him close. “Please, Roy! You’ve made it this far... please, _please_ don’t give up on me now. You can do this... you can do this, I know you can...”

“But I don’t want to, Maes.”

His heart shuddered and threatened to break, but he continued to hold Roy instead, shaking him as roughly as he dared, desperately trying to get the words through to him. “Roy,” he whispered, striving to be heard over internal torment and suffering. “You _can not_ give up now. I know it hurts. I know it’s hard. I know you’re scared and... and I know you just want this to stop. I know that and... and I’m _sorry_ I can’t make this better. But you _can’t_ stop trying now. Please... it’ll get better, I promise. I know it may not seem like it now but it won’t always be this bad. You’ll get through this, Roy! You survived six months there, you made it through, you’re _here now,_ Roy, you’re safe and I’m not going to let you go. After you survived that... you can’t give up now.”

“But I want to,” the broken shell whispered against his shirt again, voice empty and dead. “...I want to stop, Maes.”

This time, it was Maes that was trying not to sob, as Roy cried silently in his arms and it felt that with every passing moment, his best friend slipped further and further away from him into a place where he could not reach, and gave up.


	7. Nothing Left Pt1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> double update! and next chapter is a real monster where shit gets real, so enjoy the breather while it lasts :)

To Roy’s very intense, but silent, disapproval, Maes took him back home to his own apartment.

It was obvious the colonel wasn’t very happy about it, the man having gone so far as to try and suggest he could just get a hotel for the time being. Maes had snorted at him and promptly told him he was being ridiculous- but quietly, he knew that he could not blame him. A month in a hospital, untold months of torture before it- he’d probably want some time to himself, too.

But even physically, Roy was just not well enough to be left on his own. Mentally, well...

Maes just didn’t want to think about his friend’s mental state, right now.

They left the hospital in the evening, the move designed to help them avoid crowds, and went home when Elicia had been sent on a playdate for precisely this reason. She’d been told not to overwhelm Roy, but Maes had his doubts on how well she would listen- she was far too young to understand anything beyond _he’s not feeling very well and needs lots of time to rest_ , and simply wouldn’t grasp the potential implications of running up on his lap and smothering him.

Maes wasn’t sure, but when he was told where Elicia was in response to a monotonous, downcast eyes asked question, he thought he could see a tremor of relief work it was through his friend’s shoulders.

But then it was gone, and Roy took control of his wheelchair, pushing himself deeper into the apartment. Gracia gave him a gentle smile from where she stood several paces back, not making any move to touch him. “It’s good to see you again, Roy,” she said kindly, and the colonel shifted uncomfortably.

“I apologize for imposing,” he mumbled, eyes planted on his knees.

Gracia frowned for a moment, clearly thrown by such a meek, quiet apology from the usually confident, silver tongued colonel. “Not at all, not at all,” she chastised him after a moment, trying to give hime a smile again, but he was still looking down at his legs and missed it entirely.

Maes sighed, giving her a sad look over his friend’s head. “It’s pretty late,” he said, essentially only for Roy’s benefit, because it _wasn’t_ actually that late but Roy still tired very easily and was sure to be exhausted after the ride over here. “I’ll help you get settled, Roy, so you can get some sleep...”

Rather than respond, Roy simply pushed himself forward, wheeling himself towards the guest bedroom that he’d already stayed in more than once. Sighing, Maes followed him, shrugging off the small duffel bag of the colonel’s belongings he and Havoc had found in the storage locker they had left the entirety of his apartment in. It amounted to little more than clothes- clothes that now, would not fit him- but Maes figured Roy would like having his own stuff rather than being forced into borrowing pajamas...

He stood in the doorway of the bedroom for a moment, watching as Roy levered himself to sit on the edge of the bed and then just sat there, occupying his time with staring blankly at the duffel bag and glaring mildly at the wheelchair like he had half a mind to kick it across the room. He looked small and lost, completely overwhelmed, and something in Maes’ chest clenched.

“Sorry,” he mumbled at last, looking downwards. “I know it’s not home, but... it’s only temporary...”

Roy lifted one of his shoulders in the barest impersonation of a shrug. “It’s better than a cardboard box on the street,” he said, so flatly and with eyes so dead it took him a moment to realize it had been meant to be a joke.

Slowly, Maes allowed himself a weak smile, heartened by the minute sign of progress. “Yes, and you would know,” he prodded gently. “Your apartment barely had more style than one.”

“...You’re wearing orange and purple right now,” Roy said at length, without even looking towards him. “Do not lecture me on style, Maes Hughes.”

The comment was perhaps the most like his best friend that he’d heard in weeks. His heart squeezed joyfully, abruptly finding himself held hostage by the smile warring to swallow his entire face. “I’ll do what I want,” he said playfully, smirking, and swallowed back the emotional tightness in his throat. “Get some rest, Roy, okay?”

Roy hmmed a noncommittal sort of response, and Maes, still smiling so widely it hurt, retreated.

* * *

Things after that were... unusual.

Roy remained quiet and withdrawn, so much so that he put his previously taciturn self to shame. He would still only speak when spoken to and very rarely made eye contact, and he spent most of the time in his room. Elicia had school, and Maes had absolutely exhausted all of his sick leave and vacation time, meaning he had to return to work (he wasn’t sure _what_ he would do when he needed to take Roy to Risembool...) so his friend was left alone with Gracia for most of the day. She told him she was lucky to be able to get the man to exchange more than two words with her. Dinners were horribly awkward to say the least, and if it hadn’t been for Elicia filling the small space with continuous chatter, he was rather sure the meals would’ve spent in uncomfortable silence as well.

He’d quit scratching the arrays into his hands, at least.

Maes, so far, had not yet worked up the fortitude to force him to roll up his sleeves and show he’d stop cutting them into his arms, too. Primarily because he doubted what he’d find would be anything close to heartwarming.

Overall, Maes was just frustrated, to say the least. It seemed Roy was withdrawing again, holding his silence and choosing to feel nothing at all rather than try and face what had happened to him- and Maes had no idea how to help him. He didn’t want to try and talk about what had happened with him; moreover, the very idea of hearing the abuse his friend had suffered nearly made him sick- but clearly, waiting for Roy to work himself out of his deadened depression wasn’t going to end well.

One night, Elicia had finally realized that her mother made two different meals each dinner- one for Uncle Roy, and one for everyone else. And Elicia had promptly done what all curious children did when she didn’t understand something: she asked.

“Uncle Roy, why do you eat something different than us?” she asked brightly, reaching over to tug at his sleeve. “Mommy says that I need to eat what she makes! But you get something special! Is it cause you can’t hold a fork? Cause your fingers are missing?” She waved her own in the air at him, eyes bright and curious all the while.

Maes stiffened while Gracia winced, reaching over to pull her daughter’s hand back. “Elicia...” she started in admonishment, shaking her head at her.

Roy stared blankly into his soup.

“Elicia, Uncle Roy isn’t feeling well, remember?” Gracia told her, her voice cautious. “He’s sick, and his doctor told him he can only eat certain foods for a while.”

Elicia gasped, her eyes widening. “Are you sick, Uncle Roy?” she asked worriedly, turning back and trying to reach for his sleeve again. “You don’t look sick!”

“Elicia!” Gracia exclaimed. “That’s rude!”

“You’re okay, aren’t you, Uncle Roy?” Elicia continued on, not seeming to hear her mother’s rebuke as she pressed Roy in concern. “Are you okay? What’s wrong with you, Uncle Roy?”

“Elicia, leave him-“

Roy abruptly staggered to his feet. He dropped the spoon with a clatter, head down and eyes utterly vacant as he stumbled backwards from the table. “Excuse me,” he rasped, swaying unsteadily on his feet as he turned and made his way as quickly as he could back towards his room.

The door wasn’t shut with a slam, but the noise still felt as final and chilling as if it had been.

“...Did I make Uncle Roy mad?”

Swallowing hard, Maes shut his eyes for a moment and scooted his chair closer to his daughter’s, lifting her up to sit in his own lap and wrapping an arm around her, drawing comfort from her warm presence and innocent eyes. She looked nervous and upset and kept glancing back towards where Roy had gone, clearly worried that she had upset him.

“No, sweetie,” he sighed, and tried very hard to keep the grief out of his voice. “Uncle Roy is just... it’s complicated.”

God, if that wasn’t the understatement of the year.

Elicia squirmed a little, lower lip trembling. “I’m sorry... I didn’t mean to make him mad, Daddy. I know you said not to an’ I didn’t mean to...”

“He’s not mad,” he assured her, although, honestly, who really knew, with Roy these days.After a moment, he shifted back as well, enough so that he could turn Elicia around in his lap to face him. “Uncle Roy was just hurt really badly by some really bad people, Elicia,” he explained carefully, voice choked with emotion. “So, he’s very sad and angry right now. We need to be nice and patient with him. And you really shouldn’t bring up his fingers to him, Elicia. It’s not nice to ask people about things they might not want to talk about.”

Her face fell, and again she tried to squirm out of his arms, eyes overly bright with the welling of tears. “...I made him sad, didn’t I?” she mumbled, lower lip trembling again. “Didn’t I, Daddy?”

Unable to take it anymore, Maes pulled her close in a hug, tucking her head under his chin as she started to cry. “You didn’t make him sad, Elicia,” he promised hollowly, holding her tightly. “You didn’t.”

He stared over her head at the shut door to his guest bedroom, feeling his heart pound painfully all the while, and held his daughter just a little tighter to try and stop himself from giving into despair. 

* * *

Later that night, after Elicia had been put to bed, he went to check on Roy.

Knocking quietly didn’t produce a response, so he nudged the door open to hover near the frame, peering into the room anxiously.

Roy was sitting on the floor, leaning back into the corner farthest away from the door, his knees pulled up to his chest and his arms wrapped loosely around them both. He looked empty again, as well as frail and small, and something in Maes’ chest clenched at the sight.

“...Roy? You all right, buddy?”

_What the fuck is wrong with you, Maes._

_No, he’s not all right. He’s not all right at all._

The colonel did not look at him. Rather, he lowered his legs a little, shifting so he was looking at his mangled, incomplete hands rather than the floor. As usual, his face revealed absolutely nothing, and his eyes were black and deep as an empty chasm.

“...I made Elicia cry,” he mumbled at last, still staring at his fingers. “I’m sorry.”

Maes hesitated, still standing in the doorway. “God, not you, too. Do I need to tell you you don’t need to apologize as well?”

Roy didn’t react outwardly for several moments, still just staring at his hands. At length, his shoulders slumped and his neck bowed as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders, he cleared his throat and rasped, “She asked what was wrong with me, Maes. ...And I... I don’t know.”

As always, his voice simply sounded dead.

Which was fine, because Maes was sure he was shaking with enough anguish for the both of them.

After a beat, Roy spread his fingers a little, the stumps of the missing ones moving as well in a grotesque display. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he whispered again. “Everyone knows something is. ... _I_ know something is. Something... something’s wrong with me, Maes.”

He waved his hands around for a moment, staring blankly at them, then let them drop limply to his lap and leaned his head back against the wall, features wiped clean and black eyes empty.

And for the first time in quite a long time, Maes actually looked at the man sitting on the floor of his home.

He didn’t see his friend.

He didn’t see a confident, womanizing, silver tongued colonel. He didn’t see a powerful alchemist. He didn’t see a hopeless idealist who loved his country enough to sacrifice his soul for it. He didn’t see a sarcastic, smug, playful bastard romantic who would die for his comrades. He did not see his friend.

He saw a small, broken, huddled up shell of a man. He saw someone who’d bled all the emotion they had and been left dry and forgotten; empty and lost. He saw a freed slave who didn’t know how to live for himself again, because he’d spent so long existing only as a plaything for others. He saw a man who’d been abused until there was nothing left of his spirit to crush.

He saw 5572.

What he didn’t see was Roy Mustang.

Perhaps it was the sleepless nights. Perhaps it was the strain. Perhaps it was the weeks spent watching his best friend suffer so greatly; perhaps it was that he had never truly forgiven himself, for being the reason Roy had ended up bound to a hospital bed for days, or for failing to find him when those monsters had taken him and chained him like a wild animal and hurt him until they broke him.

It was probably a lot of things.

But whatever it was, at that moment, when the right thing to do would’ve been to move over there, sit down next to his friend, and comfort him, Maes couldn’t do the right thing.

He turned on his heel, and left.


	8. Nothing Left Pt2

When Gracia slipped into his room, Roy wasn’t asleep.

He feigned it anyway.

“Roy,” she called softly. “I know you’re awake.”

He continued to feign sleep.

Gracia sighed quietly from the doorway. “I know you’re not asleep, Roy. You... you haven’t slept well a single night here. ...You cry when you’re asleep.”

...

Oh.

He hadn’t known that.

Breathing out in a tired exhale, Roy forced himself to open his eyes and gaze flatly at the alarm clock.

Two AM. Huh. He’d been lying here for five hours, and not slept a wink.

Huh.

He didn’t look at Gracia, or make any move to speak. She’d spell out her reason for coming, soon enough, whether he looked or spoke to her or not.

Sure enough, after several uncomfortable seconds, the woman stepped forwards into the room. Her silhouette’s departure allowed a shaft of pale light to stream in from the doorway, and Roy flinched away from it.

“Since you don’t seem like you’re going to be able to sleep,” she said, “why don’t we go for a little walk?”

Ulterior motives: obvious.

Even if there were none: still, _nope._

Quite honestly, Roy would’ve been content to be left alone and lay here in this bed until he died.

But he didn’t quite remember how to say _no,_ any more.

 _It never works anyway..._ he thought bitterly, still staring at the alarm clock. _Say it and they laugh at you. Scream it and they make you bleed. Demand it and they tie you down and-_

“...Roy?”

His mind stumbled to a dark halt.

“Okay,” his mouth said, before he’d given it permission.

Gracia hesitated a moment longer in the doorway, clearly suddenly seeming to think twice about this, then sighed quietly and nodded. “All right,” she told him softly, her voice infused with warmth and kindness. “I’ll go get your wheelchair. Wait here a moment.”

As if he could work up the courage to leave by himself, anyway.

Roy lay there limply, listening to the sounds of the woman moving through the dark apartment, and he still lay there when she returned, and he still lay there when she pushed the wheelchair to the bedside. Dark whispers murmured in the back of his mind; _do as you’re told, you rotten whore,_ and _you filthy piece of shit, I own you; don’t you dare disobey me,_ and he obediently sat up, allowing the icy tremor to shudder down his spine without complaint.

While he’d regained enough strength in his legs to be able to move about the house on his own, he was still too starved and weak to be able to make it very far without aid. If he’d had any pride left to wound, then clambering into a wheelchair in front of her and allowing Gracia Hughes to push him around like a useless rag doll might’ve shattered it all. But he didn’t have any pride left, and so he sat there and took it, because that was all he knew how to do.

The woman, true to her word, guided him out of the apartment, and once they reached the outside, she turned down towards more of the residential district than market square. Even at this time of night, there was sure to be a small number of people milling about the market, socializing and drinking after the shops had closed- and whether or not the choice was for his benefit of simply a random decision, he found himself mentally thanking her for it, and breathing just the slightest bit easier.

After several minutes of journeying in tense silence, he felt rather than saw Gracia shift to look down at him. “Maes is sorry for running out earlier,” she told him quietly. “He’s... just been under a lot of strain lately.”

Quietly surprised, Roy sat still for a moment before slowly shaking his head. He looked down to his misshapen hands, watching the fingers he still had wind weakly together in his lap. “It’s fine,” he mumbled absentmindedly, because he truly didn’t mind. Then the rest of her sentence really registered, and he frowned to himself. “Sorry for causing him so much stress. ...And for essentially abducting him, when I was still in the hospital.” He hesitated, remembering back to the way his friend had refused to even leave at nights for days at a time. “It wasn’t fair of me.”

Gracia gave a soft noise of discontent from behind him. “Quit with that, would you? I’m not going to lie and say that I didn’t miss him, and that Elicia wasn’t lonely- but if he’d stayed home, he only would’ve worried about you. Besides, you’re my friend, too, Roy. _I_ would’ve worried... was worried, anyway. ...Still am.”

Roy shifted uncomfortably at that, and did not reply.

His best friend’s wife released another quiet sigh, and she slowed down a little in their trek along the sidewalk. “Roy, we don’t blame you for any of this,” she told him quietly, but her voice was strong and steady. “We know this is hard, and we’re not judging you at all for struggling. But, my husband...” She paused for a moment, clearly struggling to find the words. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Roy,” she said at last, “because he’s not going to give up on you, and like I said, he does not blame you _at all,_ and neither do I. But, Maes is starting to feel hopeless. He thinks he can’t do anything to help you; that’s he tried everything that he can and it’s not enough. I’ve never seen him like this, Roy... he thinks he’s failed his best friend, and it’s killing him.”

His chest clenched, and he swallowed at the slow, mournful tightness that tried to accumulate in his throat. He’d seen it for days now. Realized even Maes’ unbreakable optimism had been starting to wear down, recognized where _before_ he might’ve harassed him with pictures, or berated him to _get a wife_ with such impudence Roy would’ve wanted to scream- now, he’d just sigh, and leave him be.

He’d pretended to not have noticed the changes, because he didn’t want to admit they were real.

Why? _Why_ would Maes let himself be dragged down like this, for the sake of someone already destroyed beyond repair? He bowed his head, breathing out deeply to try and control the forlorn grief spreading through him. Maes _needed_ to not care. That was the only way in this Maes needed- he had to-

He was already broken, already gone, already _dead._ Maes needed to leave him behind, leave him so he could live on and smile and be happy with his family.

If he kept letting himself be dragged down with him, he would drown with him.

Gracia sighed at him again. “Oh, Roy... I can see just looking at you that you’re thinking about this the wrong way. Listen to me, sweetie. Maes loves you. Even if seeing you like this hurts him, he’s still going to stay by your side no matter what- just as I know you would for him. But this _is_ hurting him... and I know that you can do better.”

Again, something deep inside him ached, and Roy slumped just a little further into himself.

_No. I can’t._

_There’s nothing left of me to do any better, Gracia._

A warm hand came fleetingly to squeeze his shoulder, so warm next to his icy core that she felt foreign and strange. He was so hollow and empty; just hearing her behind him, her vibrancy, her vitality...

Such qualities had been robbed from him long ago, and Roy simply did not know how to get them back. He felt as dead as a corpse, and corpses lacked the strength or the will to pull themselves up to stand on their own two feet again.

“I know this is difficult for you, Roy,” she told him softly, voice full of unspeakable kindness that made it hurt even worse. “But you’re not letting anyone help you. You’re just not doing- _anything._ I imagine that that’s better than hurting... and I know you’re hurting right now, anyway. But, if you want to get better, Roy, you have to try and face this. You _have_ to stop doing this- this... _nothing,_ that you’re doing now. I know you’re strong enough to, Roy... I _know_ you’re better than what I’m seeing now.”

With each word that she said, it felt as if the iron, leaden weight in his chest grew and grew and grew. It just kept expanding inside of him, growing until he was suffocated underneath its weight, and it _hurt._

It just _hurt._

“And if you don’t want to do it for yourself,” she told him quietly, “then, please. Do it for my husband. Because right now, he’s hurting, too. He barely sleeps. He’s going to get hurt one of these days at work; he’s barely aware of what he’s doing because he’s so worried about you. He... he hasn’t taken a picture of Elicia in four days, Roy.” Her voice wavered for a moment, and it made that iron ball inside him hurt even worse. “He’s so _sad._ He’s sad because he thinks he’s failing you, Roy. And once again: I’m not blaming you, but he can’t help you if you don’t want to help yourself. So, _please,_ Roy. If not for yourself, for him: stop lying down, and stand up again.”

Something in him broke, and when it did, it bled hurt. And that hurt just _spread_ inside him, rolling outwards from his heart to overtake his every limb, flooding him from toes to missing fingers, and snatching away the gasped breath that was far, far closer to a sob than he could take.

Her warm hand came to gently squeeze his shoulder again, and this time, it stayed there. Something warm and whole and _alive_ that reached in past ice and melted every flimsy support of hollowness and emptiness that had been all there was to prop him up.

“I’m sorry,” he heard himself whisper, and his voice was so anguished he did not even recognize it. But he was sorry. Sorry, for _everything._ “I... Gracia... I c-can’t...”

“Yes. You can.”

He shook his head slowly, shrinking away from the sure confidence in his strength that he did not deserve. “I _can’t,”_ he moaned again, and he lifted a hand to cover his mouth, fighting to keep internal torment from bleeding into his voice. Only three fingers latched over his lips and his heart shuddered again. “Gracia, there’s nothing left. There’s n- _nothing_ left for him to fix. Th-they took me... they took everyth-th-thing that I was away and now I... I c-can’t just _be better._ I can’t get up again. There’s... there’s nothing _left...”_

His breath hitched again, and this time, there was no denying that it was a sob.

Her hand squeezed even harder on his shoulder, holding him there even when he wanted so desperately to float away. “Yes, there is,” she murmured to him again. “ _You’re_ left, Roy. You are.”

Another sob tore its way out, and this time, it hurt too much for him to bear.

Roy doubled over, wrapping his arms around himself when a heaved breath made him tremble with the force of it. He gasped and wheezed, hyperventilating through the pain, breathing so hard and fast little black spots began to obscure his vision. Gasps mingled with sobs until he couldn’t tell the difference, his eyes burning and his cheeks wet, and he just _couldn’t_ make himself stop. It was like Gracia had snuck around all the protective walls he’d been constructing and Maes had been pushing fruitlessly at from the outside, and shed’ and just pushed them down from the inside, one by one, until there was nothing left and now he was collapsing inwards and he wasn’t strong enough to stop it.

“I’m _sorry,”_ he pleaded, but his voice was so wretched he could barely even understand it. Wretched, weak, wavering, sobbed... what kind of a pathetic weakling _was_ he... “I’m so... s-so _sorry...”_

One of Gracia’s arms folded gently around his shaking shoulders, holding him in a gentle embrace that hurt in its kindness. Her other hand lifted to rest gently on his head, stroking over his hair in another offer at comfort that just _ripped_ apart anything left still holding him together.

“I’m sorry... I’m _sorry...”_

“Don’t apologize,” she whispered to him, unbearably gentle. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for, Roy.”

 _“I’m sorry,”_ he choked out again, simply because there was nothing else to say. “I’m sorry, Gracia...”

Gracia said nothing else. She just held him and stroked his hair, letting him sob into his broken hands and gasp until he nearly passed out.

It _hurt_.

But he could breathe, and only now did he realize that until tonight, it had felt as if he was drowning.

Gracia said nothing else until he’d calmed down a little, still sniffling into his hands and shaking but no longer sobbing so hard he could not speak. She’d left her arm around him, rubbing his shoulder gently and still holding him in a behind the shoulders sort of hug, and he trembled underneath her arm, so raw and shaken he couldn’t ground himself.

Now, she squeezed his shoulder again. “I’m not asking you to be better, Roy. All I’m asking is for you to try. All right, honey? Just _try.”_

And, still sniffling, Roy could do nothing but tilt his head in a tremulous nod and rasp, “Okay.”

It still hurt, and everything remained broken.

But now, there was also something to fix.


	9. Not Over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol wat this fic has a plot now since when

It took several weeks after his release from the hospital for Roy to work up enough strength to safely travel to Risembool.

And, hell, what a rollercoaster those few weeks were.

Roy improved drastically, working hard and in so many ways to recover from what had been done to him Maes almost could not believe it, at first. He finally started eating again, now able to get through a meal without three or four reminders, and now actually eating more than the bare minimum- and what was more, several days after the change, the colonel finally actually talked to him about it.

He’d waited until they were alone, and spent the first several minutes staring firmly at the floor, his voice probably more haunted than he even realized- but without prompting, he’d explained.

“They made us earn food. If you left a customer unsatisfied, you didn’t eat. If one left particularly happy, then you’d get a little extra... like a _reward._...It’s felt wrong, being given food even when I haven’t done anything to earn it... but I guess the only way to get over it is to force myself.”

Maes, shocked and repulsed, had been too surprised to do anything but just stare at him in uncertain horror, the revelation making him feel almost ill. Roy had shifted a little uncomfortably under his stare for several seconds, then simply pulled himself to his feet and staggered away before Maes had recovered himself to speak.

There had been many moments like that over the course of his convalescence, moments where _before_ Roy would’ve been silent and uncooperative, staring blankly at his hands, and yet now he would try and struggle, and when asked, would mumble ashamed, quiet synopses of remembered terror and abuse. Maes wasn’t sure what to make of it, at first. Sure, it was not the deadened depression his friend had been trapped in for so long. Now, at least, he _responded_ to offers of help and comfort, and didn’t just stare at the floor as if they had not been heard at all. But at least before, he’d been able to hold himself together. Perhaps in a horrible facade that was painful to witness, but he’d been stable.

Now, though, he was in a constantly fluctuating state of nervous, unbalanced rawness, one minute smiling weakly in conversation and the next trembling, eyes blind, hand over his mouth as he whispered a story of enslavement and torture. It was deeply anguishing to witness, and even though he knew they were steps necessary for his friend to take if he was ever to heal from this, it still pained him greatly.

But he was getting better.

Now that he was eating again, it took him only a week to finally ditch the wheelchair, and when it came time for a checkup with Ackerman the doctor was clearly very pleased- if takenaback- by the recovering man who shook his hand and greeted him with a small, weak smile instead of the limp shell he’d discharged weeks before. He also brought good news on the physical front, giving his tentative approval for travel and automail surgery. Roy had stayed quiet then, looking towards his incomplete hands as if he wasn’t sure whether to look forward to the procedure or not, and ended up just nodding silently.

In the end, the plan was to stay in Central for still a week more. Maes excused it by saying he couldn’t get out of work until the next week. In reality, he wasn’t totally convinced his friend was up for several days of traveling and wanted to give him a few more days before setting out. Roy, as usual, didn’t offer an opinion one way or the other, and the days leading up to their departure were passed in an uneasy sort of silence that left Maes apprehensive, to say the least, about what was to come.

Then, just two days before they were to leave, everything went wrong.

* * *

He was sitting with Elicia when the phone rang, helping with her homework while Roy did god only knew what in his room; given recent events, probably stared at the floor until he decided to brave conversation and polite society again. Maes ignored the phone, only half-listening to his wife answering the call as he worked with Elicia- well... he’d quit trying to make her do her homework some time ago, but, really, she was already a little genius, what did it matter if she missed one night...

But, all too soon, he heard Gracia’s footsteps, then the creak of the door hinges as she stuck her head into the room. “The military’s calling, dear.”

Maes groaned. “I’m not home,” he muttered sullenly, fixing his gaze on Elicia and avoiding responsibility.

Gracia, however, actually _laughed_ at him, smiling- he just knew, somehow, even unable to see it. “Not in front of Elicia, Maes. Come on, you need to answer it; it was a general.”

He groaned again, grimacing. Joy. This was sure to improve his night... sighing, he forced himself to stand, shoving his hands in his pockets as he and Gracia traded off, leaving Elicia to her while he headed to find out what a general could possibly want at eight at night. Whatever it was, it was sure to not be good.

“This is Lieutenant Colonel Hughes.”

“Hughes. It’s General Hakuro. Listen- Mustang is still staying with you, right?”

Maes frowned, starting to twist the phone cord around one of his fingers anxiously. He should’ve guessed it’d be about Roy. “Er, yes,” he hedged after a moment, unsure of how much he should reveal. “Why?”

When Hakuro, rather than answer him, just released a long, relieved sigh, Maes got his first inkling that something was wrong.

“...General?”

Hakuro was quiet for several more moments, and when he finally got his answer, it was stiff and just urgent enough to provoke his nerves into protective. “See to it that he stays there,” was all he got, rather than an explanation. “And you with him.”

“General, what’s going on? What’s happened?”

“...There’s been a major jailbreak.” Hakuro broke off for a moment; Maes could hear how tense he was even just over the phone. “Central City’s about to go on lockdown until we can control this. Most of the escapees have nothing to do with you or Mustang, Hughes, but... one of them... it’s...” He trailed off with another sigh, plainly distressed and overtired to say the least, and extraordinarily reluctant to tell him. Maes waited, chewing his lower lip with all the tiny bit of patience he had left.

“It’s Andrew Winters,” Hakuro said finally.

Maes’ blood went cold, and he jerked ramrod straight as if he had just been electrocuted.

Andrew Winters.

Or...

One of the men who’d kept Roy prisoner.

He gasped in a sharp intake of breath, teeth abruptly grinding together so hard they nearly shattered.

“Yeah,” Hakuro sighed. “Like I said, there’s no evidence he’s going to go after Mustang, but I don’t want you or him helping us look for him. You’re both too close to this. Keep Mustang there, and stay there as well, Hughes. Or, better yet, get yourself and family to stay at a friend’s tonight, just until this all blows over. This situation is going to be hard enough to handle as it is- I _don’t_ want to have to deal with a flame-happy Mustang stalking the city ready to blow up the first person who looks at him the wrong way.”

“Wh- _what?!”_ In his shock and rage Maes didn’t even remember to keep his voice down, hands fisting frantically by his side in tandem with the rise of bloodlust. “I’m not going to stay here and hide from him! General-!” On one hand, _no,_ Roy was not going out to look with him- the only thing Roy was doing was staying as far away from this monster as humanly possible. At the moment the only place Maes was interested in his best friend being was locked in a steel bunker with his alchemy gloves, and maybe a strike team or two- but _Maes_ was not going to run and hide from this. No way in hell- not after what this man had done. Not to _his_ best friend. “I can get Roy a protective detail but I’m-“

“We don’t need a flame-happy Mustang stalking the city; we also don’t need a trigger-happy _you_ doing the same. Hughes, we’ll take care of this.”

“But-!” Swearing under his breath, Maes pushed away from the wall, battling the instinct to grab his knives and hunt this monster down to slit his throat himself. “General-“

“This isn’t a request, Lieutenant Colonel. Neither you or Mustang are going anywhere tonight.” Hakuro broke off to sigh, clearly displeased and stressed. “Someone will call you with an update by morning. And, trust me, Hughes- the military isn’t very interested in letting the scum of the earth roam free in our city. We’ll find them. No matter what it takes.”

Then, as if to preempt the argument he knew was coming, the general hung up.

Maes stared wildly at the phone, his heart pounding, then slammed it down onto the receiver and barely stopped himself from bringing his fist into the wall after it. Damn it- _damn it!_ It was a travesty of justice these monsters hadn’t already taken a trip before the firing squad; now he was being asked to sit back and do nothing while he knew they were out free in the city?! After what they’d done to Roy- _fucking Hakuro...!_

“Roy!” he shouted after a moment, breathing hard and trying desperately to control himself. “Hey, Roy, can I talk to you for a second?!” Regardless of what Hakuro’s demands were, the general was right on one thing- the only thing Roy was doing was staying inside, and protected, and as _away_ from these monsters as possible. He’d deal with Hakuro as soon as he assured Roy’s safety. “Roy!”

When there was no response, Maes cursed again, already palming one of his knives as he headed back through his apartment to get the man’s attention. Damn it, he knew Roy had taken to being silent and withdrawn lately, but that didn’t mean he had to play dumb when he could obviously hear Maes shouting after him. _“Roy,”_ he groaned under his breath, wrenching open the door to his guest bedroom with an aggravated sigh.

He stopped dead.

Roy was not inside.

In fact, there was no sign of him anywhere.

But the window, leading out onto the fire escape, was open.

And his alchemy gloves were missing.

_“Roy!”_

* * *

Maes Hughes was a man on a mission.

Specifically: a murder mission.

Just whom he was going to murder, well. That depended on who he found first.

If he found the escaped prisoner first, then Maes was going to act as his judge, jury, and executioner, and that was that. One of his greatest regrets in all of this was not killing everyone involved when he could’ve excused it as necessary, back during the raid; he should’ve shot everyone involved back then and been done with it. There was no need for a trial or their day in court. He knew it went against everything he believed in, working in investigations, but after what Roy had been through at their hands- it didn’t matter. He wanted them dead and would be only too glad to pull the trigger. If this was the excuse he needed, so be it.

But, if he found Roy first...

Oh, god damn him.

God _damn_ that stubborn, reckless, danger-seeking, _insane_ man.

If he found Roy first, his best friend was most likely to find himself beaten into the ground, handcuffed, dragged back to his apartment- or a safehouse- and then, most likely beaten again for good measure.

It wasn’t just that Roy had left on his own to look for this bastard himself, although that was certainly part of it. It wasn’t just that Roy was in no shape to go on a manhunt, personally involved or not. It wasn’t just that, well, Hakuro was _right;_ with Roy out there now, in his current state of mind there was a definite danger of some poor, unsuspecting soldier getting roasted just for accidentally startling him.

But not even fucking telling him beforehand?

Heading out on his own- not one single thought cast towards how _terrified_ Maes would be when he’d burst into his guest bedroom and found Roy not there?

Damn it, if Maes caught up with him first, Roy Mustang was _dead..._ either before or after he hugged the life out of him in sheer relief.

He stalked the city streets in a black rage and terrified daze, heart pounding and breaths racing in and out of his chest. The city was on lockdown after the prison escape; the only people on the streets were military officers, like Maes, and the escaped prisoners themselves- another reason he was worried for Roy’s welfare. His best friend wasn’t in uniform, not unless he’d somehow snuck into Maes’ bedroom, stolen and dressed in one of his, and slipped out, all during the one minute phone conversation and without attracting attention. If spotted, Roy would be assumed to be one of the escaped prisoners, and that...

God, that would not end well.

Best case scenario, he’d be handcuffed, re-traumatized, and left in a holding cell for a few hours until it was straightened out- possibly with the monster who’d imprisoned him in the first place.

And that was the _best_ case scenario.

_Damn it, Roy, if you could’ve just fucking thought, for ONE damn second, before running off all half cocked..._

Maes turned another corner, narrowing his eyes as he looked around the darkened streets. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for; any sign of his friend, perhaps, hopefully not the sound of a far off explosion... any of the escaped prisoners would be icing on the cake, at this point.

God, he just wanted to find Roy and have him be all right.

He wasn’t sure why, but his instincts told him to stop following the general direction of motion, most of the soldiers heading for the city limits to search for any escapees. Somehow, his instincts told him Roy would avoid crowds, so rather than follow the sea of blue running off down the streets, Maes found himself turning down an alleyway, knife in hand and heart in his throat. No sign of Roy, no sign of Roy...

The further he wound through the back alleyways, though, the more Maes worried he’d taken a wrong turn. There was no one here, soldier or criminal. Dammit. He couldn’t imagine Roy willingly venturing to a crowd right now, but he could spend days wandering through the backstreets of Central... damn it, maybe if he headed south, towards the river...

Just when Maes turned to head back, he heard voices.

A quiet conversation, just within earshot. Two low voices, only barely close enough to even be noticed at all.

Maes paused, the grip on his knife tightening.

_The only people out right now are the military and the escapees._

Cautiously, Maes drew closer, footsteps suddenly hushed. He pressed himself against the wall and moved as close to the corner as he could get, cursing just how _loud_ his boots suddenly sounded on the cobblestones as he approached the speakers.

He found himself able to see them before he could better hear them, one military officer standing half under a streetlamp, carrying out a heated discussion with a civilian. Maes’ shoulders slumped and he loosened his hold on his knife, grimacing. It was probably an officer telling some ignorant pedestrian they needed to get inside during the lockdown. Disappointed, Maes leaned away from the wall, already planning his next move.

“...you _doing_ here?!”

“You told me you would arrange it- you never did- so _I_ arranged it _myself!”_

“I was working on it! Things were almost ready to go before you instigated a _city-wide prison break!_ ”

Maes stiffened.

Well.

So, it wasn’t an officer just telling a civilian to get inside.

Maes froze a moment, his intense worry about Roy hesitantly taking a backseat. This didn’t sound like something he could just turn his back on and ignore- even with his need to find Roy as urgent as it was. Hesitantly, he drew a step closer, nerves prickling. The officer’s face was finally thrown into the light, revealing Colonel Archer, standing under the streetlamp- and, lord, did he not look happy.

“Believe it or not, even with my connections, I can’t just spirit a man out of prison. _Especially_ one that’s got half of investigations begging the death penalty for! I told you it would take _time._ And now we’ve got the whole city locked down! That doesn’t help matters, you _idiot!_ ”

Maes stiffened. Half of investigations begging the death penalty for? Granted, he’d been a little distracted lately, but he certainly wouldn’t have missed a case like _that._ But, the only case he could think of right now that had so many people invested was-

...

Was...

Maes’ blood ran cold.

_This person... is..._

An image flashed through his mind, one of his best friend bare, bound, bleeding, and on the filthy floor of his prison, branded like an animal and terrified out of his mind.

His vision went red with rage, and, abruptly, he could only see that faceless civilian on the ground in a pool of his own blood.

This person was the one who’d done that to Roy.

“You weren’t giving me any reason to have any confidence in you, Archer! Damn it, I should’ve never gone after Mustang in the first place!”

And Maes- already taking his first step towards bloody murder around the edge of the corner- froze.

_Wait... what...?_

“Winters-“

“No, you listen to me, Archer. I went to a hell of a lot of trouble to take him for you. I never wanted him anyway. You don’t get your money’s worth for men, and you never get your trouble’s worth with an alchemist! But you wanted Mustang out of your way, out of the military for good, and you insisted I be the one to do it. I did it all because you promised if the military moved in, you would be my get out of jail free card. You lied, Archer! You lied to me!”

“If you want to mince words, you shit, Mustang’s not _taken care of,_ in case you didn’t notice. I’ve spent every day for weeks trying to make sure he keeps his mouth shut about this. Luckily for _you;_ do you have any idea what would’ve happened to you if I was implicated?”

“Damn it, I was better off never having met you, you manipulative son of a bitch. Next time you want someone take care of, find a gun and do it yourself- I’m not interested in buying _any more_ of your _screw ups, Archer!”_

...

_...Oh._

And, just like that, Maes finally understood.

Every single misshapen, uncertain piece of this nightmarish jigsaw began well over six months ago very gently, very horrifically, began to at last slide to fit to fit into a coherent, terrifying whole.

One thing that he had never understood about all of this was why Roy. Of course, there could hardly be any sort of justifiable _reason_ for any of those people taken, their lives destroyed beyond all repair, but- but _Roy?_

Maes had been officially taken off the case after they’d rescued Roy, both because he obviously couldn’t be impartial and because he’d taken so much time off trying to take care of Roy- but Scieska had still kept him perfectly well informed. He’d quickly found out that, while it had been mostly women they’d rescued that day, there’d been a few other men as well- but they’d all been young, barely even adolescents, with androgynous or effeminate features and marked as runaways or orphans- people that no one would miss. The kinds of boys the slimier officers jokingly called jailbait and not so jokingly made eyes at.

Then, there was Roy: a thirty year old man, undeniably male, and a ranking officer of the Amestrian military. He wasn’t just an outlier- his presence was so illogical it defied all reason.

Then there was the fact that Roy wasn’t just a soldier, he was a literal walking weapon. Why take somebody so unequivocally dangerous, someone so easily recognizable, someone _known_ for his talent with killing? And not to mention why, but _how?_ The Flame Alchemist did not just get taken against his will... not without a trail of explosions left in his wake.

But, that was exactly what had happened.

Roy had vanished without a trace, so completely and abruptly a part of Maes had always suspected it had been an inside job. Someone he’d known. Someone who could’ve gotten close enough to him to take him by surprise- and god knew he had any number of enemies that could fit that list...

Enemies like those in the military.

Enemies like Colonel Archer.

_Oh..._

_Oh, god, no..._

It was _him._

It was Archer.

He was the one-

The reason Roy was-

Maes didn’t realize he’d stepped out from behind his safety in the shadows of the corner until both men jumped, twisting around to stare, and in the same motion Archer had lifted his weapon and aimed it directly on him. “Oh... Hughes,” the colonel called, and a thing that he could only call a relieved smirk crawled across his face, disgusting and smug and _blood boiling._ “I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve found one of the escaped prisoners; you can help me bring this one back in!”

Ordinarily, Maes was a very intelligent man. He thought very quickly on his feet. He adapted to nearly any situation and could play any number of roles that he had to. Some distant, detached part of him understood immediately what Archer was trying to do here- and some even smaller part of him realized his best chance was to play along, because it was two against one and Archer had his gun trained on him and all Maes had in his hand was a damn _knife,_ but-

The rest of him was too blinded by rage to care.

“It... it was you.”

Archer hesitated, and that confident, dark smirk crossing his pale face began to contort into a grimace of anger.

“You’re the one who... who took... Roy.”

It was him.

The person responsible for all of his best friend’s suffering... was right here.

_Roy..._

Archer paused.

His grip on the gun shifted, and his stance shifted from deceptively casual to deliberately tense. “Oh. So- you heard, then. What a pity... you could’ve gone home tonight, Hughes, if you’d just minded your own business. Really, didn’t your mother ever teach you not to eavesdrop?”

And then, that so-called civilian stepped out from behind Archer- gun of his own in hand.

It was, as he’d known from the very start, one of the people who’d kidnapped Roy.

His knife was gone before he’d even realized it was thrown. Two more after it then he was reaching for his gun, separated by over thirty feet and pathetic visibility but if there was one thing Maes knew it was knives and right now, his belonged in that son of a bitch’s throat. He thumbed the trigger as he jerked his gun out from his belt, already preparing to take aim in the dark-

But Archer’s bullet was faster.

The force of it hit him before the pain did, driving him in a stumble backwards to slam against the wall, gun already clattered to the ground from limp fingers and hand clutching at the blood streaming from his shoulder. He found himself tearing away his hand from the wound to scrabble for another knife left-handedly, but it was already too late.

“You should’ve run when you had the chance, Hughes,” Archer hissed, and this time, when he began to advance, Maes had nowhere to back away to. “You really should not have gotten involved.”

And Maes found himself simply too furious to be frightened.

“Y-you... you’re the reason Roy was taken,” he finally choked out again, muscles knotted and trembling with rage. “You’re... _how could you?!”_ All the suffering his best friend had gone through, every time he’d woken screaming or sobbing, every single time he’d flinched at the sound of name- it ran through his mind in an infuriating haze and he stared numbly, too furious to even feel the pain. “How the hell could you have done this to him?! _Why?!”_

And Archer- vile, poisonous, disgusting snake that he was- laughed.

He stood there, next to the most pathetic excuse for a human being Maes had ever seen in his life, and he laughed.

“Honestly?” He lowered his weapon an inch, though Maes was still left pinned by the gun the man next to him held. “The truth, Hughes?” He lowered his gun even more, touching a finger to the shallow wound in his side from his knife and face stretching into a sneer. “Because it was convenient. That’s all.”

He laughed again, and, oh, god, in that moment, Maes wanted nothing more than to see him dead.

“I wanted Mustang gone- like every other sane officer who knows about his little _plans_ for our country. What, Hughes- you think I haven’t heard the rumors? You think I don’t know what he intends to do?” He smirked darkly again, eying him like a piece of meat to be slaughtered. “Everyone with half a brain knows Mustang wants Fuhrer. Everyone knows what he wants to do with it. I was just the only one to take him seriously and realize how much danger we’d all be in if he succeeded. I was the only one to realize we had to do something about it.”

His good arm shook, blood weeping down one limb and a the weapon clutched in the other wavering in the air. Oh no. _God_ , no. This just- it _could not-_ “You did this because you don’t want him to be _Fuhrer?!”_ He nearly screamed it, heart pounding in his chest and fury nearly blinding him. Fucking politics. _Politics!_ What Roy had been through- all for fucking _politics?!_

But Archer just sneered at him again, mouth twisting like he’d just eaten something disgusting. “I don’t care who’s Fuhrer, Hughes- but I’m not letting _him_ get it. If he gets his way, he’ll cripple this country- don’t deny it! He wants to weaken our military- wants to dishonor those of us who served our country in Ishval! We went to war for Amestris and risked everything, and he wants to call us _criminals for it!_ ” He waved his gun around again, eyes blazing in disgust. “You- you were there in Ishval, Hughes, you fought with us- I have no idea how you sided with him in his repulsive _dreams_ for this country. He spits on all the sacrifices we made for Amestris in that war and his hope is to see our military so weak Drachma would have us conquered in a day! So- so yes, Hughes. Yes. I got rid of him. Not for my sake. Not because _I_ want to be Fuhrer. For this country, and so he doesn’t run us into the ground.”

And he lifted the gun up again, aiming it straight for him- and Maes knew, even in the low light, even with the distance... there was no possibility that he could miss.

Archer grinned.

“Of course... just killing is too _messy,_ Hughes. Not for someone like Mustang. After all, killing creates a martyr. A martyr turns one man into a movement. Just _killing_ him would be cutting off the head of the snake to watch two more replace him; you and all his other traitorous supporters would become too big a force to silence- but now. Now, after what I’ve done... no one’ll ever follow him again.”

“Because no one wants a whore for Fuhrer- right, Archer?”

A blistering, concussive blast of fire burst to life, so strongly Maes was thrown off his feet.. and on the tail end of flames and words so cold they pierced like ice, there were footsteps.

Slow, steady, and foreboding... in a death march straight into hell.

“That’s what you told me. You told me that even if I ever found my way out of there, it didn’t matter, because I was ruined. Because I’m just a whore now... and _no one wants a whore for Fuhrer.”_

The flames expanded again, blasting so powerfully Maes was again thrown back against the alleyway wall, head cracking on the concrete and breath leaving him in a gasp. Reeling, he struggled halfway upright, coughing and stunned in the sudden heat- just in time to see his best friend step through the flickering shadows and into the firelight.

But it wasn’t Roy.

Not as Maes had ever seen him.

The Flame Alchemist stood there, half in the firelight, as a deadly, terrifying wraith, eyes so cold and black and he might’ve been a demon and so pale and gaunt he might’ve been dead. He stood there cast in the flames’ light in a terrifying figure that was only barely reminiscent of his best friend; there was no playful smirk, no intelligent wit in sharp eyes- he didn’t even see the haunted, fragile shadow of 5572 that had become so much more common to him than his friends.

He saw the terrifying, inhuman Hero of Ishval that would kill without a second thought.

His gloves were gone. But his pale, bony hands dripped with blood and glowed eerily, lines marked into them and burning with the same flames that had struck the alleyway, and Maes knew his friend, though unarmed, was a walking lethal weapon just waiting to fire.

Roy paced forwards slowly into the flickering flames, face vacant of everything except black, poisonous hatred. He raised one of his hands higher, controlling the fires to hem them in around Archer with a clenched fist and a vicious grin.

He stood there quietly for several moments, the crackling flames all there were to break the horrible silence and stillness of the dark alley. The look in his eyes, only for Archer...

He’d seen that empty, inhuman stare in Ishval, and he’d hoped then to never see it again.

“Get behind me, Maes,” he murmured at last, and his voice, such a quiet, featureless growl of fury, it was plainly an order- even if Roy hadn’t so much as looked at him ever since stepping into the alley. Roy raised his hand higher, waiting for a stunned, disbelieving Maes to follow the command before he went on- eyes still only for Archer.

“I thought we had an understanding,” Roy hissed at last. “I’d keep my mouth shut about you, and in return, you’d leave Hughes and everyone else out of this. I’ve held up my end of the bargain admirably, I think- what happened, Archer? Did you forget?”

Archer smirked in the flickering firelight, his pale face thrown into a sharp, almost terrifying contrast. “Ah, but Hughes sought us out on his own, Mustang. Just as you’ve done, now... besides, I think any previous deal of ours is quite moot, at this point, Colonel.” He gestured coldly around at the flames flickering in the alleyway and smirked again, gun still raised and aimed on Roy. “Don’t you think?”

Roy said nothing, but he tensed his hand a little more, and the flames flickered higher.

Archer pulled the trigger.

Maes couldn’t help but flinch, jerking halfway to his feet with a cry of alarm, hand stretched out- but Roy’s flames were faster than he could ever be, and before he’d even made it to his feet the entire space had been utterly overtaken with a blistering swell of flames so intense it blinded him. He fell back onto his hands, gasping and squeezing his eyes shut on reflex. The moment he got past his instincts he was terrified, imaging Roy bleeding out on the ground or god, already dead, bullet through the head-

But when he wrenched his eyes open, Roy was still there.

And Archer wasn’t.

“I think,” Roy snarled after several moments, his voice heavy and black with rage, the flames flickering ever higher, “that you forget, Archer. In that precious Ishval you love so much?Amestris had a hundred thousand guns... but I was worth more than all of them combined.” He laughed quietly, and the sound was high-pitched and horrifying on the hot crackle of fire. “I guess even a whore’s still got some worth as a human weapon, right? That’s all I am now- what my body’s worth?”

Archer, pinned back against the the opposite wall, one hand clutching over his face, the other still gripping his melted gun, didn’t respond. By the fact that his palm was pressed over his mouth, and even from here Maes could see blood, gleaming with a black glow in the fire, he couldn’t even talk.

Roy had burned his tongue out.

His friend raised his hand again, blood dripping from the arrays and the fire gleaming so bright he was cast as only a black shadow before them. He paused for a moment, flames flickering around his feet and catching onto the hem of his trousers, licking up his torso like he was a monster from hell itself.

“You should know, Archer: I never had any intention of leaving you alive. Not since the first time you shoved your disgusting dick in my mouth. You signed your death warrant that day- it was always just a matter of time.”

His hand tensed again, and just like that, a blistering heat blasted outwards- and Archer was dead.

For several moments, everything was still. Roy remained on his feet, flames eating away the ground at his feet and at his legs, high and vicious and deadly, looking to be nothing more than a dark shadow before his alchemy. He stood there unbothered by the fires and unaffected by the dead, destroyed body across from him, each and every inch the Flame Alchemist who had been so likened to Satan himself.

Then.

Very slowly, and deliberately.

Flames burst brilliantly to life over his palm, eating away at his _skin-_ and Roy turned to face the one other man in the alley.

“Well,” Roy said calmly, and the only word for that dark, foreboding snarl was simply _demonic._ “Hello again, Master.”

Maes gasped.

What-?!

That man was-

_Oh my god-_

Winters somehow managed a tiny, nervous smile, stumbling backwards with his hands already raised in surrender, gun dropped to the ground. He looked like he knew he was about to die- but still had some tiny hope of talking his way out of it. “N-now,” he stammered, “there’s n-no need for that, Roy-“

“Oh, we’re on a first name basis now?” Roy tensed his hand again, and a blistering heat wave rolled outwards with such force it nearly knocked out _Maes_ and he wasn’t even the target of it. “But that’s so unfortunate! Come, we’ve known each other for so long, had such a _nice_ relationship as master and slave- I was hoping we could continue that now! You know- for old time’s sake! _...Master.”_

This time, the fires caught the man on the arm, and the only noise other than the crackle of his alchemy was the sound of his screams.

Maes knew that he had to stop this. He could not let this go on. Roy was- this _was not_ okay and if he didn’t intercede Roy just might blow up a city block. And even beyond that- Andrew Winters was already dead but somehow, Maes got the feeling that letting his best friend go on in this almost murderous rampage wasn’t going to end well. He needed to get him out of here, _now,_ calm him down, stop those strange, horrible arrays from burning him any further-

But Roy, quite clearly, was not going anywhere.

“Come on,” Roy hissed, and suddenly, with a strength he never would’ve guessed from his still too thin form, jerked out and lifted the man up by his collar, slamming him into the wall with another burst of fire. “Come on, Master, it’s just me. Your favorite darling slut. What’s my name? You remember my name, don’t you? _Huh?! Don’t you remember it?!”_

And suddenly he was screaming, in the man’s face and fires roaring and shaking so hard he looked about to fall apart. He pushed harder, slamming Winters’ head harder back against the wall and raising another hand as if to strike him. “Say it! _Say my fucking number!”_

“...Five... f-five... seven... t-t-two.”

Roy froze.

Then...

Then, there was screaming, violence, raging, and fire.

Roy yelled and thrashed, slashing his hands through the smoke over and over again like flaming swords and throwing everything he had at the man before him. He was dead already, dead in an instant but Roy just kept going like he was an immortal devil and couldn’t risk letting up for one single second; fire blasted against the wall until all that was left with a scorch mark and Roy, god- Roy, he _screamed._

He screeched into the night, a high-pitched and bloodcurdling wail of suffering and agony that tore at his ears and made his heart stutter in sorrow. He shrieked and yelled, the sounds nearly inhuman- inhuman in his desperation to kill a man that was already dead. His ruined hands never stopped; for god’s sake there was nothing left of his captor but the burn mark on the wall and he just- just _kept going._ He screamed like he was being tortured, shrieked like he was being killed...

And Maes was left there frozen on the ground, bleeding, nearly scorched himself, and horrified beyond words.

Finally, somewhere beneath his stunned haze, Roy’s screams drove him to his feet.

He moved cautiously forward, each step careful and deliberate, until he stood directly behind Roy. It was just the two of them still, Archer dead on the ground, and of the man who’d taken his best friend and transformed into _this_ not anything at all that could even be identified as human. Touching him would get him killed; grabbing his bleeding, burning hands would get him blown to bits. Stepping into his line of sight would get him dead.

Doing nothing, however, would end in Roy blowing up a city block.

“Roy,” he said softly, just loud enough to be heard over the fires and the screams.

His tormented best friend finally stopped.

One hand frozen by his side, the other raised skyward, tensed and contorted with fires still ringing the deep arrays carved into his skin. His shoulders were trembling and his knees quaked, as if he might collapse or faint.

His heart in his throat, Maes tentatively moved another step forward, still at Roy’s back. He glanced anxiously at the deadly array, still active, still bleeding, still _burning._ “It’s okay,” he ventured hesitantly, voice shaking. “Everything... everything’s fine, Roy-“

_“Shut up!”_

And Roy was screaming again, but this time at _him,_ jerking back around so suddenly Maes jumped with eyes wild in the firelight. “Shut up, shut _the fuck up!_ Don’t _call me that, don’t fucking call me that!_ Why is that so hard for you to get, Maes?! _Don’t fucking call me that!_ ”

He was gasping now, chest heaving with the force of each and every too quick, too shallow breath. Maes had no idea what to say; felt as if his mind just may have been shocked permanently out of anything useful or productive; he started to open his mouth again, for what purpose he had no idea-

 _“SHUT UP!”_ Roy shouted again. “Shut the fuck up, why can you never just _shut up?! DON’T CALL ME THAT!_ Don’t fucking call me that, shut up, sh-shut _up,_ why can’t you just- you’re always fucking _talking-_ you’re always- don’t call me that, Maes, just _stop already,_ will you god damn _stop?! Stop it,_ ** _stop it!_** Y-you- just fucking- _won’t-_ I- _ah-“_

And suddenly, Roy was on _him,_ hand yanked out of his grasp and his best friend moved so suddenly _he_ was pinned up against the wall, one of Roy’s ruined hands planted against his chest so hard the wind was knocked out of him. “What, are you going to tell me everything’s okay now?! I _know_ everything’s okay, Maes!” he shouted, “I _know!_ They’re both dead, I killed them, it’s fucking _over_ now and has been for weeks, I _know!_ I know I’m fucking fine, Maes, why do you have to keep reminding me?! Why do you have to keep fucking trying to piece me back together, _huh?!”_ He pushed and screamed, eyes wild in the fires and face torn and distraught beyond all recognition, so devastated it wasn’t Roy at all but a shattered, broken shell with hands burned and still bleeding. “I’m not some _project_ for you to fix! I’m not some charity case for you to put on a shelf and love and coddle until he’s all shiny and fixed again, I’m _already fucking fine!_ ” He shoved violently, black eyes so wide and brutal it was an animal’s fright and fury that pierce him through to his core. “I’m fine, I’m fine, I’ve _been fine for weeks,_ I’m _fine,_ Maes, I’m always _FINE!”_

Roy was screaming in his face now, red-faced and shaking and anguished, and Maes couldn’t help but flinch, jerking back against the wall. He nearly stumbled on the blood on the ground and Roy gave a wild laugh, eyes dancing in madness. “Yes, yes, I killed them, Maes, yes, I killed them both! Archer, he made me this because a whore’ll never be Fuhrer, can you believe it, so I could never be _Fuhrer!_ Can you believe that, Maes?! A bullet in the brain would’ve been so outlandishly easy, so _perfectly_ simple, but he goes off and _sells me instead!_ ” He barked another mad laugh again, eyes shocked wide and mouth twisted into a self-loathing snarl of hate. “And so I killed him! He- he sh-should’ve killed me f-f- _first!”_

He was laughing again- voice cracking with it, face split wide by his smile.

“And you want to know something else, Maes?” Roy pushed him against the wall again, three fingers and bleeding array pressing into his chest. “I killed my master, too. Yes; he’s the one you wanted to find. There he is. All that bits of blood and bone and ash at your feet. You found him, Maes. So sorry; I took away your one chance at revenge. I killed him. What a damn _shame!_ He spent so long trying to shape me into a good little pet, so long trying to make me too afraid to use my alchemy, so long trying to make me into an obedient little fucktoy, and it all _worked_ is the thing, everything he did _worked-_ but I guess in the end, even he was still human! He’s still nice and toasted and _flammable!”_

He was _still_ laughing- laughing, because he’d never stopped. And finally, in the face of Roy’s own sick madness, Maes managed to drag himself out of his stunned stare and answer him back.

“You knew, didn’t you?” He pointed with a wavering hand down tot he blood at his feet, then Archer’s corpse, just several feet away. “You knew this whole time. Who they were. You _knew.”_

Roy grinned again, baring his teeth in an animalistic _snarl_ that flashed in the poisonous firelight. “I didn’t. I told you, Maes, I never knew his name. And... you never asked if Archer was involved. You never asked, and I never said. I never lied.”

Maes stared at him in increasing horror, gasping at that sickening, dazed stare that drove through his own. “You _knew!”_ he gasped again, “you knew- Roy-... why did you never say anything?! This whole time, Archer- why the hell did you never tell us?!”

“Tell you, Maes? And accomplish what?” He smiled still, ruined hand planted firmly on him, eyes flashing in the fires. “What?! You’d have a decorated officer’s word against _mine!_ Colonel Archer against this- this unstable, crazy slut’s-”

“I’d have believed you!” Maes shouted back, horrified, stunned, _furious,_ furious that Roy had done this, furious that this was only coming out now, that Roy had hidden this all this whole time. “I’d have believed you, Roy, how could you think I wouldn’t?! We- we’d have found evidence, we would’ve done something, we-“

“He _threatened you,_ you idiot, don’t you get that?! _He threatened you!_ I didn’t tell you because I _knew_ you would believe me!” He finally jerked his hand back, only for flames to burst to life over his palm again and suddenly the colonel _slammed_ it against his shoulder. Maes cried out, a strangled shout scratching out of his throat but Roy just grinned at him again, burning the gunshot wound shut with not even a single care in the world. “You would’ve lost your mind, insisted on mucking around, making a damn _mess_ that I couldn’t control- he would’ve killed you! He would’ve killed all of you! Do you realize that, Maes?! The second I told you, you’d have been _dead!_ You, me, your _family-“_ Roy choked off with a gasp, reflexively grasping his wounded shoulder so tightly Maes cried out. “He threatened your family; what the hell do you want from me?! To just let that happen?!”

Anything else Roy might’ve said, and Maes would’ve been too stunned still, too horrified, in far too much pain to respond. But _that._ That.

His family.

Maes shoved Roy, so violently back the colonel nearly lost his balance and fell. “My family?! He- _Gracia and Elicia?!”_

“Yes.” Roy smirked again, his voice finally dropped down into something controllable mouth twisting into a smug sort of contorted grim smile that was chilling in its wild abandon and insanity. “He told me that if he knew someone willing to buy _me,_ then I was insane to think he couldn’t find someone willing for a pretty darling housewife or a five year old girl. That you would be the luckiest one, Maes, because he would just kill you.”

He smiled again.

Maes stared.

And finally, when Roy reached his hand up to try and press it to his shoulder again, eyes still wild in the dancing flames’ glow and teeth bared, Maes caught him by the wrist, swung him around to hurl his back against the wall, and pinned him without a second thought.

“My _family,”_ he hissed again, standing so close there was nowhere to run. “My family, Roy?”

This time, Maes found himself glad when the man actually had the sense to shut up.

His mind froze, paralyzed over the stomach-churning, nauseating image that Roy was so willingly painting for him with no hesitation. He’d been there nearly every day these past weeks- he’d seen every injury, he’d witnessed every breakdown, he’d heard every stomach-churning story of abuse Roy had said. Everything that had happened to Roy, at least, everything that he’d ever told- Maes knew.

He’d thought there could be nothing more perverse or wrong. Even after Ishval he’d already still believed in some innate sense of order in the world, rightness and wrongness, that there had to be limits, even if by god in what had happened to Roy, they had broken one.

That notion was shattered, in trying to take Roy’s suffering and now see his wife, or his _daughter,_ in its place.

His... his _daughter._

Maes stared at his friend in the strange light, red and orange glowing against his sallow face and wild eyes. “You knew,” he repeated, voice deadly quiet and strained to a near choked whisper. “You knew he’d threatened my wife and daughter? My daughter, Roy? This whole time?”

Roy took a shaking, unsteady breath, and did not respond.

His daughter. An innocent _five year old_ child. Who could ever- something so abhorrent, disgusting- a _child_ -

Elicia...

“How _could you?!”_ he finally shouted, and for a heartbeat wanted to actually strike him. “How could you not tell me?! My family was in danger and _you didn’t say anything?!_ I could’ve gotten them out of the city- god _damn you, Roy,_ if anything happened to them because of this and you didn’t warn me-“

He didn’t know what he was going to say, just what he would’ve done if this _had_ ended badly, just that he was _furious_ and god damn Roy for letting it happen. He raised a hand again, shaking now, because part of him did want to hit him, not letting up as he pressed the colonel even harder against the wall. “You’ve known for months, haven’t you?! In the hospital, when you got worse- the first couple days, when you were talking and then- then you just- just _stopped-_ it was because of Archer, wasn’t it?! He threatened you all the way back then! He threatened my family! You’ve known about this for _months_ and never told me!”

Once again, Roy didn’t answer him, and Maes’ raised hand tensed, curling into a fist. He jerked it back again, not to hit him but because some baser part of him might want to.

Roy flinched a little, pressing back against the wall. The intake of breath was rough in the smoke, and for just a second, fear shot through his dark eyes.

Maes stopped.

Roy was not _actually_ afraid of him, he could see that in his eyes. He knew Maes wouldn’t actually hit him, and that even if he did he wouldn’t go beyond that, because Maes had not spent all these weeks earning his trust for it to be broken by something as small as a raised hand. But even if he understood that on the surface, that hadn’t stopped that burst of instinctual fear in his eyes, the survival instinct that had been far too ingrained over months of abuse for anything Maes ever did to coax it out of him- and it was that instinct that stopped him.

He closed his eyes tightly, breathing out hard, and lowered his hands.

No, he had not spent all these weeks earning his trust to put that in jeopardy now.

It took him several moments to reign in his anger enough to speak, shoulders tense and voice tight. “Who saw you come out here?” He could barely hear himself underneath the hot crackle of flames, a hoarse whisper, shaking with so much anger the words were barely steady, and Roy did not answer. “ _Who saw you come out here?”_

“...No one.”

Maes breathed out harshly again, his heart pounding, black rage coursing in him with such thick virulence it hurt to be still. He forced his eyes open again, making no effort to stop glaring, but didn’t raise his hand against him again, instead looking at him dead on and refusing to let him move away. “You went out to assist the search for the escaped criminals alone. You found Andrew Winters. He had already shot me, and already killed Colonel Archer. He used Colonel Archer’s dead body as a shield. You were forced into using your alchemy. You unfortunately burned Archer as collateral damage. Do you understand?”

Roy glared mutely, a stubborn sort of anger burning in his dark eyes, cast in a red glow from the fires. He continued to glare for several seconds, stubborn over something he couldn’t name, then finally tilted his head in a stiff nod, jaw clenched and features unreadable.

“Good.” Maes took a step backwards, then stopped, returning his glare to the colonel again. “Put out the fires. _Now,_ Roy.”

Once again, Roy glared quietly at him, and for a moment was so tense Maes thought he was going to have to force him.

But then, with a blast of air so chilled it cut through to the bone, so quick and abrupt it was stunning, the fires were stamped out, extinguished in a blink of an eye. In an instant the crimson light was gone, leaving then both doused in darkness, Roy only visible as a sickly shadow so pale he nearly glowed, white and cold as snow, eyes dark and dead as a corpse.

Again, it was silent.

Finally, Maes jerked away, clenching his jaw. “Follow me,” he hissed, finally letting his injured arm fall limply by his side, gripping a knife in his good hand. “We’re going home now. If you even think of running off, I’m arresting you for resisting an officer. Come on.”

And with no further room for argument, Maes led Roy out of the scorched alleyway.

There were a few others on the streets, mostly other officers, whom Maes all turned a blind eye to; once, he swore he even saw one of the escaped prisoners, darting between streets, and he purposefully ignored him. He was bleeding, Roy was burned, and just- just _no._ He didn’t have the patience for it.

“The array’s special,” Roy blurted out suddenly, voice unsteady and lurching. Maes tensed for a moment, stomach clenching anxiously, then gripped him by the arm tighter and continued hauling him through the streets. “Before I controlled the oxygen. Should’ve called me the Oxygen Alchemist, not the Flame Alchemist. I couldn’t make flames. Now I can.”

“Yeah, well, good for you,” Maes snapped back under his breath, but Roy was not anywhere near done.

“That’s what I spent all my time on, there. Making the flame. It’s been a theoretical question for a long time, you know. How to do that. Master Hawkeye never could figure it out- he thought it was impossible. But I knew it was possible. It was. And I figured it out.” He broke off to laugh quietly, stumbling unsteadily in the street almost as if he was about to fall. “It’s easy, Maes, when all you’ve got time for is thinking. All I could do there was think, think think think. It’s nice; gives you something to occupy yourself with, when someone’s on top of you or you’re choking on some asshole’s dick or it hurts so much and you feel like such a pathetic, used piece of filth you want to _die_. I remember when it finally clicked, what I had to do; I was fucking five men at once and busy suffocating when I finally figured it out.”

Maes had gotten used to this, by this point; used to Roy slipping so casually into a story so horrifying it made him want to throw up. He glared straight ahead and kept on walking, grasp tight on his thin arm as he tried to tune it out- to no avail.

“Do you think I’d have to reference them, Maes?” He laughed again, louder this time. “If I published, do you think I’d have to list them in the acknowledgements? _And thank you, Anonymous Rapists One, Two, Three, Four, and Five, for your inspiration and support; without you, none of this research would’ve been possible.”_

“Well I don’t know, Roy; you think that’s a good idea? Go ahead, fucking go for it. See how that works out for you.”

He wanted Roy to shut up. More than anything, in that moment, Maes just wanted Roy to _shut up._

“I heat up the air. You don’t need a spark, for a fire. If things get hot enough the fire’ll start on it’s own. That’s all it is, Maes. I just raise the temperature. Then once I’ve got the fire, I control the oxygen. It’s easy. You wouldn’t believe how easy it is, Maes.”

“I’m so happy for you,” he hissed. “I suppose that’s why you like drawing it in your own blood so much? It’s easy? Convenient?”

For the first time, Roy stiffened a little, showing some minute signs of self-awareness. “...I... have to,” he muttered after a moment, “it’s- safest, that way, to-“

“Bullshit.” Tightening his grip on Roy’s arm, Maes roughly hauled the colonel before his apartment building, jerkily unlocked the door to get him inside, then swung Roy around to sit him on the step. “Stay the fuck there and don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

“What?” Roy’s mouth stretched into a sickened smile, pale and stricken in the darkness. “You don’t want me near your family now? Worried about what I’ll do to them?”

“You know what? _Yes.”_ Maes barely kept his voice quiet now that they were inside, trembling with restrained fury and spitting the words out through gritted teeth. “The way you’ve been tonight? Yes. I don’t want you running your mouth like that in front of Elicia, and I don’t want you burning my wife, so _sit the fuck out here_ and _I’ll be back in a second.”_

He waited for a moment, standing stiffly and meeting Roy’s eyes with a glare, silently challenging him to push him and get up off the stairs. _Just fucking push it, Roy. Go on, try it. I’m in no mood for your bullshit right now and so help me I’ll fucking handcuff you to the god damn stairs._

Once again, Roy’s response was nothing more than a sullen, silent glare.

But he didn’t move, and, satisfied, Maes yanked away and headed past him up the stairs.

It was some time past two in the morning, now, he thought as he unlocked his door, his daughter surely long since put to bed. He’d told Gracia when he’d left he had no idea if he would be back that night- hadn’t he told her; it was all such a blur, he’d been so worried about Roy- he could’ve _sworn-_ regardless, it was late, she was sure to be in bed, too...

But the first thing he saw upon roughly elbowing his door open was Gracia, curled up under a throw and head lolling on one shoulder, a book in slack hands and her features, even in sleep, creased with worry.

She’d waited up for him.

Not just him- Roy, as well.

His fists clenched again, and this time, the rage already flooded through him from head to toe morphed straight into sheer hurt.

Gracia...

His sweet, sweet wife...

_Archer threatened her... and Roy never fucking told me._

His hands started shaking again, and he suddenly found himself swallowing the lump in his throat.

He should’ve woken her up. She shouldn’t sleep like that; she’d end up sore the next morning- and if she woke up later and realized the time and that he still wasn’t home- god, she’d be so worried. He should wake her up, if just to tell her that everything had been resolved now and that both he and Roy were safe.

In the end, after several moments of just staring down at her, his heart painfully tight in his throat, Maes just turned away and said nothing.

He told himself it was because he didn’t have time to talk to her right now, not with a potentially unstable Roy still sitting on the stairs of his apartment building. That he just needed to get back out there as quickly as possible, and that he couldn’t afford to take the time and explain it all to Gracia until later.

He knew it was because Gracia would stop him from leaving- would take one look and _know_ something was wrong. She’d pull him down onto the couch next to her and make him explain then not let him leave until he’d calmed down and wouldn’t do something he’d regret...

And at the moment, he was too damn angry to care.

He was fed up with being calm.

Maes swiftly rummaged through the supplies he needed, leaving the lights off, found what he’d use, and left, trying not to look at his wife again and skirting as far away from his daughter’s room as he could. He shut the door quietly with an exhausted breath, squeezing his eyes in the dim light. Rage still pounded in his chest, and he breathed out harshly again, so tense his shoulders hurt.

When he made himself turn and saw Roy, sitting exactly where he’d left him at the foot of the stairs, somehow, he didn’t feel any better in the slightest.

Maes walked smartly down to the bottom of the stairs, not even bothering to disguise the raw anger contorting his features. Roy didn’t lift his head, face hidden by his long hair and hunched shoulders, and, with a near snarl, Maes dropped down to sit next to him and shoved his hand in front of his face.

“Here.”

Roy stiffened.

“...What the hell is this?”

“Oh. You don’t recognize it?” Maes scowled at him- and god he knew it was petty, but he just _didn’t care_. “Guess that makes sense; you haven’t used it in a while. It’s chalk. You know- _chalk.”_ He waved it at him again, in one of the most annoying fashions that he could. “For you to draw arrays with. Borrowed it from my daughter; she likes to draw on the sidewalk with it sometimes. I think you could use it more than she does, though.”

Roy stiffened again. “I told you, I can’t,” he insisted, raising a hand to push Maes away. “It has to go on my skin, and the only way-“

“Bullshit!” Maes hissed. “That’s fucking _bullshit,_ Roy. You don’t have to draw it in your own blood, you don’t have to burn yourself when you use it, you don’t have to do any of these things, but you choose to, over and over again, and I’m done with it. I’m done shouting at you after the fact. Next time you want to use alchemy, be a fucking adult, go to the store, and _buy some chalk._ Next time, don’t burn yourself with it. Are we clear, Roy? Because I’m fucking tired of you hurting yourself and pretending not to see anything wrong with it.”

Roy met his eyes steadily without flinching, both hands burnt and bleeding to drip down onto the floor, face twisted into stubborn fury that refused to yield. But right now Maes was even more stubborn than he was, and when he never so much as quit glaring, not about to give him so much of an inch, the colonel finally just sulked, glancing away with a sullen huff of defeat and slumping.

“Good,” Maes snapped savagely. Then, after shoving the chalk into his friend’s pocket, he reached down to grab onto one of his hands, yanking the injured appendage to his lap where a bundle of bandages rested. “I’m going to take care of this. Tell me if it hurts too much and I’ll give you a minute.” And, without any further comment, he transferred his attention down to the array-scarred, burned hand, carefully beginning to clean away the blood.

Roy tensed again, and he could feel the colonel’s eyes land on him, voice laced with sardonic amusement. “Like it would matter,” he snapped coldly, breaths hitching a little, and, somehow, those words finally were enough to make Maes stop.

He closed his eyes for a heartbeat, sighing. Slowly, he made himself loosen his grip on Roy’s hand, shifting his hand around to hold it by the wrist rather than grasp it so aggressively and, probably, painfully. He breathed out quietly again, trying to keep his head on and find some semblance of calm.

“Roy,” he said again, eyes still shut. “Yes. I’m upset. But just because I’m upset with you does not mean I want you to be in pain. Okay?” He waited for several seconds, everything suddenly subdued and hushed in the hallway, his heart shuddering in the silence, his hands trembling. “Okay, Roy?”

“...Okay.”

And, once again, Maes returned his attention to Roy’s hands, this time in silence.

Roy went still next to him, motionless and Maes slowly began to wrap the wounds in gauze, not so much as wincing even as rough gauze was pressed to deep scratches and raw burns. His own wound, the gunshot wound that Roy had burned shut, ached fiercely, and he gritted his teeth, struggling to ignore the deep sting of pain and the wet cling of blood of his uniform over his shoulder. There was just too much to deal with now for his own wound to take any precedence at all.

It was silent once again, broken only by the tear of the gauze in his hands. He gently wrapped it over the scars again and again, hiding the evidence of his own self-mutilations and abuse, slowing with every wince or gasp of breath. Slowly, inch by inch, the etched array was wrapped, soaking up the blood and binding away the burns. Maes had to force himself to be calm at first; like he’d told Roy, no matter how angry he was, that didn’t mean he wanted to hurt him, so he had to take a moment and makes himself work gently, but the longer he sat there like this, holding his best friend’s hand and slowly, tenderly wrapping it, the more his anger finally abated.

He just felt... empty.

Tired.

So, so drained, that all he really wanted was just the chance to lie down, close his eyes, and forget this had ever happened.

Next to him, he could tell the situation was having the same affect on Roy. When he’d started, the man’s arm had been tense in his grip, Roy stiff and glaring, refusing to so much as look at him. But his shoulders slumped now, head bowed and arm limp, previous tension dissipated into the same exhaustion Maes felt dragging him down into the abyss. He blinked slowly in the dark, the anger that had been propelling them both for so long finally draining away now, leaving them both just empty.

“I tried to kill myself,” Roy whispered abruptly, his voice shaking in the silence.

Maes froze.

“In the hospital,” Roy went on, and he was so limp in Maes’ hands it chilled him. “After Archer contacted me the first time. It was a week after I woke up. He... told me I should’ve stayed crazy. That if I said a word to you, he’d kill you then sell me again... me and your family. That I’d... I’d always belong to him, and if I didn’t want him to collect, I had to behave and keep my mouth shut, or I’d never be free again- and neither would your family. ...I tried to kill myself that night. I transmuted the door shut and window into a knife and had it against my wrist.”

Gut-churning horror welled in his throat, tightening in his chest to the point of pain and slamming into him like a physical blow. Slowly, gingerly, Maes let the gauze drop, just cradling his hand like a heartbroken, miserable weight, anguish swimming in his stomach in horrified sadness. He’d... _god._ “You...” he started weakly, then shut his eyes, just desperate not to picture it.

“What stopped you?” he finally whispered back.

Tentatively, Roy pulled his free hand away from Maes’, his fingers cold and shaking. At first Maes thought he just didn’t want to be touched, but then the colonel reached tremulously up to his shirt pocket, fumbling for a moment, finally pulling his find out to show it to Maes.

It was a picture.

A small, wallet-sized, crinkled beyond all ruin, now smudged with blood, very familiar picture- of him and Elicia.

“I didn’t want to get blood on it,” Roy choked out, voice thick, and let his ruined hand fall open to drop the picture into his lap.

“W... what?”

Roy bowed his head, turning away from him as if in shame. “I’d stolen it from your wallet the day before. It... made me feel better, when you had to leave at night.” His voice became even smaller, dwindling down almost into nothing but a tiny, embarrassed whisper. “And I- all I could think was if I killed myself, I’d ruin your damn picture. I- I told myself I’d just wait until the next day, I’d give your damn picture back then do it, but then the next day was there and I didn’t want to give it back, and I just... I couldn’t. I didn’t want to do it.” He huddled up a little more, refusing to so much as look at him, eyes distant and haunted. “It’s been weeks and I never could give it back.”

Maes swallowed, looking back down at the bloodied picture in his hand.

“...Here,” he managed finally, pressing it back into his palm.

Roy choked out another laugh. “It’s already ruined,” he groaned, squeezing the thing in his bloody fist- but after a moment, he pulled his hand back, slipping it again into his pocket.

God.

_If he hadn’t taken this picture..._

“I’m sorry, Maes,” Roy whispered again, hand still pressed over his heart, right where he’d left the picture. “I’m sorry. I... I wouldn’t have let anything happen to them. You know that, right? I kept it secret because I knew he’d slip up eventually, that I’d be able to kill him if I just waited and bided my time. You’re right, it is why I stopped talking. You’re too damn smart, Maes, I was worried if I talked about it you’d figure it out even without me meaning you to so I quit talking about _anything._ I never told you because I was worried he’d find out, that he’d go after you and Gracia and I just- I’m sorry. I’m... I’m so sorry.”

He sounded absolutely miserable and exhausted, so slumped with defeat he was barely upright. Part of Maes was still reeling, still furious, but the rest of him...

He looked at Roy again, hit with a belated sort of sense of understanding and shock. Because it _did_ make sense, now. He remembered the first few days, after Roy had woken up, when he’d been... well, not normal, not okay, but- _something_ approaching rational- then he’d suddenly just _shut off_ , every single answer needing to be dragged out kicking and screaming. He had known about Archer’s horrible threat for _weeks._ He’d known for so long, somehow still managed to act as if everything was normal... he’d known this whole time-

And must’ve been just waiting for that phone call Maes had gotten, telling him his captor had escaped.

“...I know,” he managed at last, voice thick. “I know, and... and I’m still upset, Roy. But I understand why you did it.” He paused for a moment, giving his hand a gentle, hopefully reassuring squeeze. “I’m mad, but I’ll get over it, okay. I know that you did everything you could. And they’re both dead now. Everything’s... everything’s over, now.”

Roy was still for several long moments, trembling with anguish, head bowed with the weight of undefinable despair. He just sat silently by his side, limp and devastated, his injured hands, long since forgotten, dangling between his knees.

But, finally, he looked back at Maes.

The blank, unbalanced anguish there stabbed through his heart like a knife.

“I don’t think it is, Maes. ...It’s not over, and it... it never will be.”

“...Roy...”

But Roy shook his head to his moaned plea, the silently begged request for him to listen to reason. Then he shook his head again, trembling faintly with restless, exhausted tension and fear. “I killed them both. The one who sold me, and the one who burned me. It’s over; there’s no more threat to me or you anymore. But... Maes, Maes, there were _hundreds._ I lost count after the first week. There were _hundreds_ of them, Maes. Men, women, Amestrian, foreigners, old, young; I don’t remember any of their faces, any of their names-“ He trailed off with a frustrated, anguished shake of his head, shoulders hunching again as if to hide his face. “There are so many I could never find them all. And I don’t think it even matters. I could kill all of them, Maes, and I... I don’t think it’d matter. I’m... already _this.”_ He stared down at his hands, half-bandaged and twisted with burns, thin and scarred with arrays, three fingers still missing, dripping blood. “I could kill all of them, and what would it change? They’ve already done this. They’ve already ruined me. You heard Archer... the damage is already _done._ They’ve already left me as just this, this used up whore, and I-”

“Please stop calling yourself that.”

Roy raised his head slightly, staring at him with eyes even more defeated than his words, and Maes found himself reaching over, taking Roy’s hands in his own and pushing up his sleeves. As he’d thought, as he’d suspected for weeks, the move bared more arrays, the scars up and down his still too thin arms, some fading white lines, others pink and red and new, one so recent it was still cracked with scabs. “Please,” he choked out again, touching the marks, tracing them over and over again, smoothing them over with his thumbs and wishing he could erase them from existence. “Please, stop. Please stop doing this.”

Roy’s hands went limp, and Maes continued to trace the cold arrays, his eyes burning now and his heart cracking with sheer misery. “You don’t have to do any of this. Please. Aren’t you suffering enough already,” he groaned, looking again to his wide, unreadable eyes, “why do you make it worse for yourself? Please, Roy, _stop._ ” His voice cracked again, a miserable moan, and he swallowed the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry, you’re right. Even if you found them and killed all of them it probably wouldn’t change anything. But... I don’t...”

Roy looked away from him again, hands left in his grip, gaze lowered again to the ground. “...no,” he murmured after a moment, and his voice was still just disturbingly calm, “ _I’m_ sorry. I don’t know what I want from you. I- I know you’re doing everything you can, I know you’re trying as hard as you can, giving me far more than I have any right to ask for- and I’m still not-“ He gave another frustrated sigh, hugging himself with a violent shudder. “Whatever it is I need, I think it’s something you can’t give. That _no one_ can do except myself. But I... I can’t... I just don’t know, Maes. I... don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

Once again, Maes thought it would’ve been much easier to take, if Roy had sounded anything other than utterly defeated.

“I’ve done the whole try-to-be-normal-again _thing,_ ” Roy hesitantly went on, voice choked and wavering. “Okay? I’ve tried that, Maes. I’ve tried just picking up my feet and moving on. “I’ve tried pretending it’s fine every time I hear my name, even when sometimes it just makes me want to throw myself out the nearest window. I’ve tried forcing myself to eat and sleep like a normal person again, I’ve tried making myself go outside and getting hey, maybe it _is_ safe and I don’t have to lock myself in my house for the rest of my life. But none of that does anything, Maes. It lets me act more normal but I’m _not._ I think it just makes me feel even worse, because I don’t know what else I’m supposed to _force._ I can’t _force_ myself to sleep through the night, or not to want to throw up at even the idea of sex; I can’t force myself to not be terrified when someone fucking _touches_ me the wrong way, Maes, I can’t force myself to feel the right things or- or _be_ what I’m supposed to- I just-“

He cut himself off to bury his face in his hands, fingers raking through his windswept hair and tearing at his scalp. He gasped out a long, shaky exhale, the sound muffled and exhausted against his hands, and shook his head without looking up. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to _do,”_ he repeated in a forlorn, defeated whisper.

Maes could only stand for the sight for a single, miserable second before he had to tear his own eyes away, letting them rest down on the scuffed wood floor at his feet.

“I don’t know, either,” he finally forced out, and it felt like he was failing him in every single way that it counted.

Roy, as was typical, had no response.

And that was how this all was, wasn’t it?

That was how this always was. Roy was still suffering, had been constantly for months, and Maes- looked away. He always looked away. He’d try to be there then shy away whenever it got too hard, too horrifying, unable to look at him, unable to try and handle him when he was so raw and in pain. Just as it was now; he flinched and stared away, unable to bear the sight of him like this- but just because he looked away didn’t mean Roy wasn’t still _there._ He could look away, take a step back, clear his head all he wanted; Roy _couldn’t._ There was no quitting when it got too hard. This was _it_ for him; this was his _life._ And how pathetic was it that Maes couldn’t handle _seeing_ him like this when the way Roy actually felt had to be a thousand times worse?

Roy had gone quiet again, head ducked in exhausted shame and misery and eyes on the floor, shoulders slumped as if he wanted to just lie down and never get up. He was still for a long while, just sitting there in that dark hallway, hands bleeding still, eyes distant, form shivering. He touched a hand to his heart again, thumb tracing over the picture hidden away again in his pocket.

“I’m sorry,” he said again at length, voice shaking. “You... you know I never would’ve let anything happen to your family, Maes. You have to know that.”

Damn it, he should’ve never lost his temper with him in the first place. “I know,” he whispered back, squeezing his eyes shut. “You would’ve done anything to keep them safe. You kept it from me because you thought it was best for them. For me. I-“

“-because I was scared,” Roy interrupted again, his voice shaking now, trembling with a miserable, keening sort of violence. “I kept it from you because I was scared. That was why. You had every right to know, and I should’ve told you, but I was too scared to. If they’d g-gotten me- _again_ \- if- if Archer h-had- h-h-had- h-had-“

Maes touched his arm again, stopping him when he stuttered, stumbling and suddenly frozen, physically incapable of even processing the idea enough to get the words out. God, he didn’t blame him. “They’re dead now, Roy,” he reminded gently, and for a moment wished it wasn’t true, just so he could have the chance to kill them himself.

Roy stopped trying to talk, shutting his mouth and trying to breathe deeply, steady his hands. He stuttered shakily again, shoulders trembling, head down. “They’re... dead,” he whispered in weak agreement, the words sounded incredulous. “They’re dead.”

He paused for a moment, staring vacantly at his feet.

“...And... I don’t feel any different,” he murmured at last, like it was a decision. “Because- nothing is different. No matter what I do or fix, it won’t change a thing, Maes.” He paused, looking up at Maes again, his eyes filled with such defeated pain it was more than he could bear. “The damage is already done.”

And to that, Maes had no response.

* * *

That night, the both of them injured, bleeding, and wholly shaken, they both gave their statements to an uncertain General Hakuro, who seemed rather wary of looking Roy in the eye and unsettled by the flat out disturbing air that seemed to follow his every step. Roy lied through his teeth, telling a monotonous, mournful story of how they’d arrived to late to save poor courageous Archer, and how he’d been forced into burning the colonel’s body- beyond all recognition, mind- to get to his captor.

Hakuro hadn’t believed him. That much was clear.

But one benefit of being the Flame Alchemist was that any evidence left behind was now scorched beyond all use. And, with Roy and Maes the only ones talking, there was no other end to this case except the story they were telling.

Archer would get an officer’s funeral, Maes reflected in a stormy silence, with high honors and a posthumous promotion to boot- but he was also dead. And Roy, as bedecked with medals and commendations as his service record was, knew none of it meant shit.

Roy, quite clearly, didn’t care if Archer was given a hero’s death and funeral or if he was reviled across all of Amestris as the disgusting scum that he was. He just cared that he was dead.

And he was.

That night, after Hakuro had left and Roy had gone to sleep, Maes stood in his daughter’s room, watching the sun rise and her little hands curl around her stuffed bunny and her little sleepy smile. He silently thanked Roy, for the safety he’d brought his family, and he wished with all of his heart he could give some of it back.

Roy, the soft, barely audible moans of a nightmare slipping through the walls and tearing at his heart again, slept on.


	10. And When You Keep Falling Down...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter after this. Warning: This chapter has the most explicit non-con of the entire fic (flashback city), so if Roy’s creepy monologues thus far have been hard for you to read, then, please, you might want to skim the scene where they’re attaching automail. Tell me in a comment and I’ll gladly give you a synopsis of what you miss.

By unspoken agreement, neither Roy or Maes spoke about the events concerning Archer again for a while.

Maes just did not want to bring Gracia into it, was his reasoning; he was sure she tacitly understood a lot more than what she’d been told, but as it was now, she’d have plausible deniability if anyone questioned their story, and he didn’t want to jeopardize that. Of course, given that Roy was still staying with them, that meant they simply couldn’t risk discussing it at all, at least not until he’d gotten his apartment back.

Roy hardly seemed disappointed, that they wouldn’t have to talk about it. Maes wasn’t, either.

Again by unspoken agreement, they both determined it would be best to leave Central as previously planned, for Risembool. They’d originally been meant to leave at the end of the week, and now, Maes was only too eager to head off. Scieska would call him, if anything worrisome happened; for now he just wanted to get the hell away from Central before anything _else_ went wrong.

 

Which left them, two days after Archer had been killed, being driven to the train station by Gracia, in preparation to see them off to Risembool.

Ordinarily, Maes would’ve lingered a bit in the crowded station- it would be several weeks before he’d get to see his wife and daughter again, after all- but this was the first time Roy had really been out and about, minus with some version of his lethal array in easy reach, and he was not handling it well.

The colonel had stuck close to him the moment they’d reached the parking lot, a hand always on his sleeve as he stumbled directly behind him, slumped over a little almost as if he was hiding behind his shoulders. He hadn’t said a single word, but he shrunk back any time someone came anywhere close to touching him, his wide, frightened eyes darting around the station like it was a minefield. He clung to Maes like a child wanting a parent’s protection, and though he knew the colonel would never admit it aloud, Roy was obviously terrified.

The arrays on his hands had healed just to the point of not being usable anymore, but he looked just on edge of scratching out the remaining lines to mold them from oddly shaped cuts to a fully usable weapon of destruction.

So Maes picked up and swirled his daughter in a swooping hug, gave his wife a swift kiss, tilted his head at Roy meaningfully, then headed towards the train. The colonel again followed less than two inches behind him, hand still on his sleeve, where it remained until they reached a compartment near the back- and even then, he still just stood there behind him, clutching his sleeve, dark eyes wide and staring.

“...Roy?” Maes asked tentatively, when his friend remained stationary even after several seconds had passed. “You okay, buddy?”

It took another couple of seconds, but at last the colonel jerked, turning his head to stare at him as if he hadn’t even realized Maes was there until now. “I... sorry, what?”

Something in his chest clenched with painful worry. “I asked if you were all right,” he said quietly, now inordinately glad he’d waited several days for this trip and starting to wish he’d taken several more.

Roy blinked slowly at him, then stumbled backwards, dropping heavily to sit down against the seat, looking almost numb. “F-fine,” he stammered hoarsely, appearing vaguely overwhelmed and uncertain. He looked down at his hands, stretching the fingers he still had, then just slumped back against the corner and continued to stare downwards. He kept on itching at the scarred arrays, just barely weak enough to not draw blood, fidgeting incessantly like he couldn’t stand to sit still. His shoulders were hunched and he looked pale and drawn, dark eyes still dilated in minute fright that he wouldn’t voice.

After a moment of hesitation, rather than take the seat across from him, Maes dumped his bag on the ground and turned to sit next to Roy, acting as a barrier between him and the rest of the world. He did so casually, not glancing at him but instead just dropping so his shoulder just barely brushed up against his, and still not saying anything as explanation as he dug in his bag for a book.

Roy almost looked, for a moment, as if he was going to question him, but when the silence just dragged on, the colonel at last breathed out a ragged sigh and ducked his head, shoulders trembling. Slowly, fright faded to quiet relief, though only when he saw Roy shut his eyes for a moment and actually relax did Maes allow himself to relax, as well.

“Sorry,” Roy mumbled under his breath, still not looking at him.

“Hmm? No, Roy; if I’d sat over there, the sun would’ve been in my eyes the whole time,” Maes chuckled, gently nudging him with an elbow to the ribs. “Bastard. Taking the good seat for yourself, is that what you were trying? Not on my watch.”

Roy did not say anything to that, just looked at him for several long, silent moments, and then, finally, he favored him with a weak, soft smile.

Maes’ heart swelled.

* * *

The journey to Risembool took several days. Maes did his best to shield Roy from the constant crowds, sometimes needing to go as far as to take the man by his too slim shoulders and lead him away from somewhere when the shellshocked colonel was to out of it to listen to him. The strain of the travel also left him tossing in hotel beds every night, moaning through clenched teeth and whimpering, crying out, when Maes would shake him awake, flinching from him as if he expected to be struck. The terror was heartbreaking to face, and day by day, Roy grew more exhausted; when they finally boarded the last train, Maes had been silently relieved, because he really wasn’t sure how much more of it his friend could take.

It was clear Roy was relieved for the travel to be over with, too, and he glanced about the deserted station at Risembool with a very exhausted, but relieved, sigh. He didn’t say anything, even when Maes clapped him very gently on the back and then reached down to heft both their bags up- it was difficult for Roy to hold things, with his missing fingers, and even those aside, it was a long walk to the Rockbells and Roy could still be very unsteady on his feet when left there for too long.

“You ready for this?” he asked quietly, well aware that automail was something Roy had mixed feelings about. Even though it was only a few fingers... even though it would only help him...

It still represented, very clearly, a sense of finality.

It still was as if the moment he got those metal fingers drilled into his hands, then no longer would he ever be able to pretend those months of abuse and torture weren’t real. They had happened, they had been done to _him,_ and there was no pretending otherwise.

It really wasn’t fair, that on top of everything else, he needed to deal with automail, too, and it didn’t even matter, because life just was not fair.

At last, Roy shut his eyes and heaved out a quiet sigh. “No,” he murmured back, and started walking.

After several miserable seconds, Maes sighed as well, wishing there was something more he could do, and started walking.

“What did Ed tell them, to get them to take me for free?”

The question surprised him, and he raised an eyebrow, glancing at his friend inquisitively. Roy wasn’t look at him, instead frowning at the long path ahead of them, his dark eyes expressionless, and Maes hesitated for a beat before deciding to follow his lead.

“Just that you had been in an accident, and needed automail fingers,” he assured. “Nothing that... that you wouldn’t want them to know.”

Roy’s frown, however, deepened. “They don’t like me. I know that much. They don’t like me-“

“Roy, they’re doctors. They’ll treat you, regardless of whether or not-“

The colonel held up an incomplete hand, still without looking at him. “They know I’m a military dog, Maes. They know I can afford automail, and they do not like me. They would not be giving my automail for free just because I was in an accident.”

Maes hesitated, his gut clenching. Roy was perfectly right, of course- sometimes it was easy to forget, with how silent and withdrawn his friend was nowadays, just how intelligent and sharp his mind remained. He paused for a moment, weighing his options, then just gave in with a sigh. Roy would pry now, until he got his answer. That was just how it was, and it would be better to give it up now rather than draw this out and get him angry.

“He told them that getting automail was one of the scariest experiences of his life, and that he wanted you to be able to get it here because it would be the easiest for you. That you’d already gone through enough and he was worried if we tried to have you go anywhere else, you’d end up backing out. ...That, despite appearances, you weren’t as _much_ of a bastard as he’d claimed and just wanted you to be okay.” He hesitated, biting his lip. “...Then, I’m pretty sure he forgot you’re a functioning adult with a saving’s account, because when Pinako tried to tell him her going rate for fingers, he insisted he would pay for it, because you hadn’t worked in months and wouldn’t be able to afford it. When she realized he wasn’t backing down, she gave in.”

Roy’s shoulders stiffened, and he glared darkly at the ground without speaking.

Sighing, Maes hefted the bags further onto his shoulder and followed without a word.

* * *

When they reached the Rocbkell’s, Roy was pale and wavering on his feet, his cheeks flushed with effort as he panted for breath and struggled not to topple. Just how the hell he’d managed that one-man hunt for Archer, he’d never understand- still, his evident exhaustion was not enough to stop him from withdrawing several steps to half-hide behind Maes when they drew close enough to see Winry waiting for them on the porch, Den curled up by her side.

Maes swallowed back his assurance, knowing Roy wouldn’t want any attention drawn to him now, and just raised a hand in greeting, smiling with much more cheerfulness than he felt. “It’s nice to see you again, Winry!” he called, halting a few feet away from the porch and allowing his friend to linger behind him. “How are you?”

“Mr. Hughes!” she exclaimed eagerly, bouncing to her feet and running down the steps, Den bounding behind her. “It’s great to see you! And, er... Mr. Mustang.” The light in her eyes cooled a little, and she folded her arms, seeming vaguely displeased, and it took a moment for Maes to remember the Rockbells still disliked Roy, for being the one to draw Ed into the military.

Roy did not jump to greet Winry, of course, or do anything to really put her at ease. He just gave her a sort of half-nod over Maes’ shoulder and took another step behind him, still hanging off his sleeve and not saying a word.

Clenching his jaw, Maes did his best to smile down at Winry, who was now staring at Roy in mild surprise and concern, clearly not having expected this and even if she didn’t like him, able to acknowledge that something was wrong. “He’s just really worn out, Winry,” he said quickly, again trying to shift the attention off his friend. “I don’t think he was actually up for traveling, despite what his doctor said. Do you have somewhere he can rest for a while before you examine him?”

Winry gave Roy another look; the fingers around his sleeve clenched tighter at being examined and the colonel rocked back on his feet, as if trying to slip away from her stare. “Of course, Mr. Hughes,” she said after a moment, frowning a little, “he really doesn’t look well. I’ll show him to one of the patient rooms. Mr. Mustang?”

Knowing Roy wasn’t going to follow her on his own, Maes started to lead the way, allowing his friend to stay behind him and trying to take the focus off of him again. Hopefully Roy would be more like himself after given some time alone, to regroup... he wasn’t sure what he would do if this quiet, frightened persona was here to stay. It would definitely draw questions from the Rockbells, questions he could not answer without breaking Roy’s confidence- and besides, that really wasn’t the state of mind for getting automail. He was already worried enough about how his friend was going to handle the procedure...

Winry led them both to a small room near the back, containing little more than a bed and automail equipment scattered about. Maes dropped Roy’s bag down by the door and shifted back for a moment, watching as his friend just stood there in the small space, arms wrapped around himself, eyes focused nervously on the floor.

“Why don’t you take a seat, Mr. Mustang, and I can start looking at your hands,” she said, not sweetly, but not unkindly, either. “Of course it’ll take several days before we’re ready to outfit you; you need to get some rest to do well in the surgery, and we need the time to make the automail. I just need to get the measurements now, sir.”

Roy shifted uneasily, his eyes darting from the bed towards Winry towards Maes again. After several moments of an awkward silence, he shifted and backpedaled, stumbling away until he reached a nearby table holding scattered screwdrivers and part of an arm and sitting on the edge of it, looking still very uneasy.

Maes silenced Winry’s surprised question with nothing more than a look, shaking his head very slightly. It wasn’t something Roy had been keen on talking about, but beds were another thing that he didn’t like much, nowadays... during his imprisonment, the only times he’d been allowed near a bed hadn’t been for sleep.

When no explanation was forthcoming, Winry, seeming even more unsettled than before, hesitated in the doorway for several moments before simply walking towards the table instead of the bed, extended her palm out for Roy to give her one of his hands. He did so, very hesitantly, and flinched the moment her fingers touched his, looking away stiffly and breathing out harshly through his nose, seeming only to be able to stop himself from pulling away with a very great effort.

Winry did a doubletake at the wounds from the array, but at another look in his direction seemed to decide not to ask about it. She clearly noticed the skittishness, and the lingering dislike in her eyes faded away entirely as she slowly began to examine his left hand, watching her patient in outright concern. She, as Maes did, could not see the old, confident colonel that had snatched away her best friend into an unforgiving military so many years ago- saw no sign of him in this nervous, frightened man who would not meet her eyes and cringed away from her as if expecting to be struck.

“How did you lose these fingers, sir?” she asked after several moments, seeming to be trying to draw him into conversation. “The amputation sites are quite clean...”

Roy pulled back an inch further, gaze still planted firmly on his knees and nervous eyes wide. “...A doctor cut them off,” he mumbled, voice flat and emotionless, and Maes winced as he recognized another return of the dead-eyed facade Roy would retreat to whenever he veered too close to something he didn’t want to feel.

Winry frowned at the unhelpful response, but took the hint that it was not something Roy wanted to talk about. “Well,” she said cautiously, still probing about his missing fingers, “this makes it a little easier on you. Nowadays, doctors set up all amputations in expectation for automail, so it takes out some of the prep work. Tomorrow, we’ll be able to reopen the incisions and set up the ports quickly, and in a few days we’ll be able to attach the fingers. As automail surgeries go, it’s one of the easier ones. Fingers have many sensory nerves that we can’t replace, but only a few motor ones to work on. Therapy’s relatively easy, too. We’ll have you playing catch and practicing writing for a little while, and you’ll be good to go, sir.”

Maes could tell she’d noticed Roy wasn’t comfortable at all and was trying to ease him into it, convince him that the automail he was getting would really be just a small, quick procedure and it wouldn’t change his life. Roy, however, didn’t respond in the slightest. His gaze was still focused on his knees and his shoulders remained slumped, tension radiating off his hunched form as Winry wrote down measurements from his fingers and grew more and more uncomfortable by the minute. She worked quickly, writing down all the information she would need to make the new fingers, and when she’d finished and Roy had still yet to say a word, withdrew uneasily, hugging her notepad to her chest.

“Well... I suppose I’m all finished here, sir... I’m going to go get to work now. You still don’t look very well; I’d recommend you try and sleep as much as you can, while you can- even though it is just fingers, the surgery is still very rough.” She paused for a moment, apparently searching for something else to say to break the awkward silence, but when Roy still refused to say anything or meet her eyes, she just gave up and retreated.

Maes stood uncertainly by the door, giving the uneasy colonel a few more moments to himself before clearing his throat. “Well, that went well,” he said pleasantly, trying to force himself to smile.

Slowly, Roy raised his eyes from his lap to give him an incredulous stare. The fact that he was meeting his eyes at all was heartening and Maes only barely stopped himself from favoring him with a relieved grin; instead, he just shrugged weakly and chuckled. “Could’ve gone worse?”

Roy blinked at him slowly, then finally just looked away, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards in the barest impersonation of a smile. “Yes,” he croaked. “I could’ve set her on fire.”

It hardly passed for a joke, but that was what it was, and after a stunned moment of silence, Maes rolled his eyes at him, weak with relief. “It was not _that_ bad, buddy.”

“No?”

“...Well, yeah.”

Roy snorted, and, now unable to stop the weak smile from swallowing over his entire face, Maes nodded at him from the door and took a small step backwards. “You need to work on your conversation skills. A step above murder by fire is still pretty awful. But for now, just get some sleep, all right? You really do look exhausted. Like she said, you have a few days before they do anything, but I imagine automail surgery isn’t something you want to be worn out for.”

The colonel paused for a moment, still not really meeting his eyes. “Yeah,” he mumbled noncommittally after a moment, fingers twisting into his sleeves. “...I guess...”

He looked unsettled again, even as he very cautiously stood and walked closer to the patient cot, looking down at it and not making any move to sit down. Maes lingered uncertainly in the doorway, unsure if he should stay or if his friend just wanted to be alone.

When at last, it seemed as if Roy was just not going to say anything, he cleared his throat. “So... I’m going to-“

“Maes,” he interrupted. He didn’t say anything else for a moment, just his name, then fell silent, staring blankly down at his feet as he dropped to sit on the cot. His hands were again forming anxious fists, bunching the fabric of his pants, and Maes remained still in the doorway, waiting for the hammer to drop.

At last, Roy cleared his throat and spoke.

“Could... if you don’t mind... could you...”

His voice trailed off to die in the silence, shoulders tense and gaze still averted, but Maes heard the question he couldn’t bring himself to ask all the same.

“On the second thought,” he said loudly, plastering a confident smile on, “Winry’s probably going to be very busy working right now, and I think I’m pretty tired from traveling too.” He let his own bag drop down to the floor and sat with an exhausted huff on the stool Winry had used earlier, kicking himself over to the desk with one of his books in hand. “I’ll chill in here for a while, if that’s okay.”

He gave Roy a sidelong glance, still smiling slightly, and the colonel, after a long moment of nonplussed silence, finally relaxed for the first time since reaching Risembool. A very small smile found his own lips, and rather than say anything, he offered up just a mute nod, then lay on his side on the cot, back to him.

 _Thanks, Maes,_ he saw in his dark eyes, and for a moment, Maes truly could feel nothing but contentment.

* * *

Winry had not been exaggerating when she’d said it would take several days to make the fingers. Maes was thankful for it, as it gave his friend a few days to mentally recover from the traveling. The Rockbells, busy in their work, did not bother either of them much in the time it took, and Roy took to spending most of his time outside- which meant Maes did as well. He wasn’t sure what he’d done that had successfully coaxed Roy out of the patient room; probably wasn’t him at all, just the spare automail limbs that littered it, but whatever it was, he was grateful. It was the most sunlight his friend had gotten in a good eight months, by this point- eight months, had it really been so _long_ since this nightmare had began?- and it was good for him. Granted, he wasn’t well enough to really do much of anything besides find a shady spot and read, and he stilled jump at any loud noises and could stare at his lap for so long Maes would need to bring him out of another flashback- but already, he was getting better. He no longer hung behind his back whenever they went in for dinner and while he still wouldn’t talk unless directly spoken to, the answers he gave were far closer to something normal rather than something short, blunt, and often outright rude, to stop the questions.

By the time Winry had told him he was ready for the automail surgery, he was almost reluctant, despite it being the whole reason they’d come here in the first place. Reluctant to throw any sort of wrench into what was _finally_ some sort of a path to a recovery.

But that was not a valid reason to stop the procedure, and so, on the morning of their third day in Risembool, the sun saw Roy lying on an exam table, Maes at his head, the Rockbells both at his right arm, which was currently strapped down. That alone was clearly enough to make the colonel nervous, dark eyes wide and darting nervously around the room, even with his hand gently resting against his left shoulder. Lying down, surrounded by people, arm strapped in place... he could just imagine how bad this was for him, and his heart ached, but he knew there was nothing they could do. The Rockbells didn’t sedate people- that was dangerous, and best done in a hospital. And short of being unconscious, there was nothing to make this easier on him.

Pinako explained what they were going to do while Winry prepped his hand. Again, Maes was pretty sure his friend wasn’t even listening. Rather than point that out, he simply stayed still behind him, hand on his shoulder, and waited.

When at last, the Rockbells were ready, Pinako moved to assist her granddaughter, but not before handing the colonel a clean dishrag. “For when you start yelling,” she told him calmly, and Roy paled.

Then they started the procedure.

Maes promptly wished they hadn’t it.

It took less than a minute for Roy to give in and shove the rag into his mouth, clamping down on it with his teeth and muffling the moans. He tensed and bucked and groaned on the table, twisting his head back and forth as the Rockbells worked on attaching an index finger to his hand. He slammed his head back against the pillow over and over and howled through clenched teeth, sweat beading on his forehead before even ten minutes had passed, ten minutes in which Maes- and, most likely, Roy- gained an entirely new respect for Edward. If this was how bad just a _finger_ was, he couldn’t imagine what the poor kid had gone through- and so _young..._

After many minutes, though, it was clear that Roy was losing his grip. No matter how hard he was struggling to hang on, he was still too weak, too ill, too stressed, too worn out, to manage this well, and no matter how Maes tried to talk him into breathing with him he was now hyperventilating on the table. Pinako noticed, because of course she did, and the elderly woman moved to stand at his other shoulder, flicking him on the forehead.

“Come on, there, Mr. Mustang,” she chided roughly, in her version of a bedside manner surely cultivated carefully after years of standing by military men going through the worst pain of their lives. “Take it like a man- that’s what you military folk say, isn’t it? Don’t be a girl about it? Just a little finger, that’s all it is, Mr. Mustang. Don’t go crying about this now.”

And just like that, everything stopped.

Roy froze. Completely. It was as if her words had paralyzed him. He jerked into complete stillness, jaw falling slack so the rag dropped to lie on his chest. His muscles, previously tight and tense with agony, suddenly fell completely relaxed too- and the light in his eyes went out.

His mouth moved soundlessly, his eyes stared blankly, and in that moment, Maes realized Roy was no longer with them.

“Stop,” he rasped, then cleared his throat and spoke even louder. “Stop what you’re doing. Right now.”

“Wh- what?”

“Do it,” Pinako told her granddaugther, the woman clearly having realized, just as he had, that something was _wrong_ with her patient. She moved back a few steps while Maes yanked the restraining leather strap off his bicep before leaning over his friend, very gently palming his cheek and trying to get him to focus on something.

“Roy? Roy, hey, it’s just me... can you hear me, buddy? Can you say something for me?”

Roy’s mouth continued to move, but no sound came out, and in his eyes, there was nothing.

“Roy, it’s Maes,” he pleaded, running a thumb over his brow. “It’s just me, buddy. You’re safe... you’re in a safe place, all right, you’re okay... just breathe... Roy?”

This time he could hear the faintest of whispers issue forth from his friend, still inaudible and definitely not something he was sure was a good sign. Very worried now, Maes backed up a little and gestured for Winry and Pinako to do the same, his heart lodged uncomfortably in his throat.

At first, the retreat of those surrounding him got absolutely no reaction. But then, the whispers rose, drifting from an inaudible hiss into something they could hear.

“...-can’t even take it like a man? If you’re going to cry like a girl about it, then suck me off like one. Down on your knees, whore. Down on your knees!”

His heart dropped into his stomach.

Roy continued to be utterly blank, his stare blind and his face expressionless, but his voice rose, twisting through the horrible words with disgust and rage, and with each passing mutter, his form grew tense again, so tense, until it was to the point he was shaking on the exam table. “Little _bitch._ You can’t even suck a man off right! Come on, _Flame._ Oh, you’re still going to cry like a girl about it?! Let me _give_ you something to cry about then, you pathetic whore!”

“Winry,” Pinako commanded, her voice somehow steady, “leave the room. Now.”

The girl stumbled back a step from her ranting patient, clearly stunned and horrified. When she did not jump to comply, though, the elderly woman snapped out the order again, her voice leaving no room for an argument- and, obviously thrown and frightened, Winry did.

Roy, who had fallen suddenly perfectly still at Pinako’s voice, jerked again when the door slammed, throwing himself away from the sudden noise and bolting to back into the corner, as far away from both of them as he could get. He was trembling violently now, shaking so hard he was almost vibrating with terror as his legs gave out on him and he fell to his knees, still backed away into the corner, eyes wide and terror bleeding over his face with every horrified word that came.

“That’s right, baby... tell me you like this. No- no, you _look_ me in the eye, you say it, whore! You do what I tell you!” Roy laughed abruptly, horrifying, sickeningly, the sound cracking and broken with sobs as tears streamed down his cheeks. His hands raised to wrap in his hair, tugging on it violently, tears still overflowing. “ _Say it, whore!_...Yeah... yeah, that’s right... you like it, Flame, don’t you? I’ll give you more, bitch...”

“Roy!” Maes shouted, desperate and terrified. “Roy, it’s okay! It’s okay, you’re safe now! _Roy-“_

“Did I say you could get up?! Down on your fucking knees!”

Maes froze, alarmed. This had never happened before. Roy had had flashbacks but _never_ this verbal- never so violent- never something he hadn’t been able to break him out of. He knew he needed to get him out of his personal hell but was at a loss how; Roy wasn’t even looking at them, couldn’t hear them...

The broken colonel dropped a little further, fingers still clutched in his hair, eyes still streaming, mouth still moving- and that was when he saw it.

A gleaming scalpel, clutched in his right hand.

Instantly, the situation changed.

“Pinako, get out of here,” he ordered, voice bordering on a military command. He palmed a knife in his own hand and shifted a cautious foot backwards, alert and horrified. “Get Winry, and get somewhere safe.”

Pinako actually snorted. “I’m not afraid of-“

“He has a knife, and I don’t know what he’s going to do with it. If he finds out he went after you with a weapon he’ll be even worse off, so get your granddaughter, get out of here, and let me deal with him. Now!”

At last, the woman left, too, not frightened like her granddaughter but because it was the only thing she could do, and with that Maes was left alone with his terrified, ranting, delusional best friend, a knife in between them and Roy only too ready to use it.

“Roy!” he called again, desperately trying to get through to him, get him to focus. “Roy, come on! Snap out of it!” And he knew his chances of success were far higher if he just knelt here and waited for Roy to come out of it on his own, waited for his friend to find reality and be there for him when he did- but he couldn’t bear it. He couldn’t take sitting here watching Roy laugh and sob while trapped and reliving horrifying abuse- not if there was the slightest chance there was something he could to do to help him. “Roy, please... you’re all right, you’re safe now...”

Roy jerked violently, going rigid against the wall. A tremor shook through his shoulders and the terrible parody of a grotesque grin contorting his tearstricken face dropped, revealing only horror. He curled in on himself, gasping, wheezing, heaving out sobs like the world was ending. One hand slipped from gripping his hair to cover his mouth, but his eyes remained blind and staring, struck with sheer horror.

“...Roy?” he ventured, daring to take a step closer. He lowered his hands for a moment, heart hammering painfully hard in his chest.

There was no response, and Maes dared another step forward, swallowing. “Roy, say something to me. Come on, man...”

Still, no words or even a flicker of recognition came, and strained to the point of terror, Maes moved closer still. He was close enough to touch him now and held back from reaching out for several moments, hoping for some sort of response, but when still none came, Maes knew he had no choice but to try.

He slowly extended his hand forward.

Animal terror flashed through impossibly dark eyes, his friend flinching back and crying out in the same breath, throwing his arm out in a wild arc of desperate defense. Maes knew knives better than anyone; he _saw_ the blow coming in almost slow motion, and in a splitsecond he’d both analyzed the trajectory as non-lethal and already saw three different ways to disarm him and stop the hit from landing.

Each way would only frighten him even more, and ground the delusion that he was back in that hell even stronger.

Knowing that, Maes didn’t have a choice.

He gritted his teeth, stood stock still, and let Roy stab him.

The blow glanced off his shoulder, the strike more of a frantic, defensive swipe than an actual attempt to kill anyone. It still ripped through his shirt and skin, drawing a pained grunt through clenched teeth and spraying blood to splatter across Roy’s frantic face, but it wasn’t deep enough to do anything more than hurt and he held his ground the entire time, waiting it out and praying that this was what was needed for him to wake up.

Roy flinched when the blood his him in the face, reeling back with a startled gasp. He blinked once, wide, frightened eyes jerking from him to stare at the bloodied scalpel still clenched in his fist.

Then he gasped again, and this time, Maes saw him blink and finally see reality.

His friend flinched back again, this time not out of terror but horror. He looked away from the scalpel again to stare at him, trembling in shock, then looked down to his wounded shoulder.

All the blood drained from his face.

“Roy,” Maes started, reaching for him without thinking, “it’s okay-“

Roy jerked back from his hand, gasping hard like he’d just sprinted a mile. His horrified gaze fixed on his shoulder again, chest heaving in panic, and he raised his own bloody hand to stare at it.

The next second, he was up on his feet and running out of the room so fast Maes wasn’t able to stop him.

Several moments later, he heard the door of the house slam.


	11. ...All You Can Do Is Keep Moving Forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter! thanks to all who've left comments/kudos <3 <3 <3

The overcast countryside, devoid of the city lights and shielded from the glow of the moon, was dark enough to cast the entire landscape in near absolute darkness. It was impossible to see any detail and Maes almost couldn’t see even the steps of the porch to stumble down them.

Something that did not work at all in Roy’s favor, considering the white shirt and his even paler skin that stood out like a beacon as he sprinted into the knee-high grass, running so impossibly fast for someone in his condition that if it hadn’t been for the black on white contrast, Maes would’ve lost sight of him instantly.

But he didn’t.

He followed.

Perhaps, if circumstances would’ve been different, Maes would’ve reconsidered the wisdom of that move. Would’ve followed only close enough to make sure Roy didn’t get himself hurt and stayed back, giving him time to himself and hope that would allow him to calm down.

But right now, Roy had a knife.

So didn’t keep his distance. And instead, he ran.

Considering how easily worn out he’d been even this morning, Roy ran for an amazingly long time, sprinting over the grass for so long even Maes was panting and barely able to keep up. He ran like a man with the devil himself on his tail, sprinting away from him for minutes straight until at last, not even adrenaline could carry him any further.

He crumpled to his knees, a slim, impossibly small figure under the black sky. And there he knelt, too far away for Maes to see anything but the shape of him, and that, more than anything else, drove a stake of terror into his heart.

He ran even faster, so afraid he felt as if he might throw up.

When he finally got to his side and saw his friend’s state, he almost did.

Roy was hunched over in the grass, gasping even harder now than when he’d been in the house. He was breathing so fast he was hyperventilating, each rapid breath exhaled so quickly and violently he surely wasn’t getting any air at all, eyes dilated and cheeks flushed with physical exertion.

The bloody scalpel was still in his hand.

It was pressed against his neck.

It took a monumental effort for Maes to not lunge forward. To just stand there and catch his breath, heart hammering so hard against his ribcage he could feel it pulse in his head. To still himself enough to stop any frantic or jerky movements. To drag himself out of the horrified, blank slate his mind had become and plan his next words, because now, more than ever, acting on instinct was not something he could afford.

Finally, swallowing back bile and trying to master frantic, heartstopping fear, Maes spoke.

“Roy.”

His friend flinched, so violently that Maes flinched, too, gasping as he waited for the blade to drag into the delicate skin of his throat by accident- but it didn’t. Instead, there was just Roy, still hyperventilating on his knees, but now staring up at him in speechless, overwhelmed fright. Very carefully, Maes took a step back and slowly began to lower himself to the ground, doing everything he could to not startle him.

Roy opened his mouth, trying to say something, but he was breathing too fast and hard to get it out and nearly choked. Maes blanched at the sight of his pale throat spasming under the knife and again had to hold himself back from jumping forwards, terrified it’d make that terrible blade drag across his throat in instinct alone. “Roy, slow down,” he intoned gently, holding his friend’s gaze and trying very hard to not sound as frightened as he was. “Come on, breathe with me.”

The colonel shook his head once, blade scraping against his flesh as he did so but not deep enough to draw blood. He tried to speak again but nothing came out, and it took everything Maes had to keep himself back.

“Breathe with me,” he said again. “You’re just having a panic attack, Roy. It’s okay. Come on, slow down for a second, listen to me... it’s going to be okay...”

Roy shook his head again, somehow managing to wheeze out a frantic, _“N-n-no!”_ He gasped for several more seconds, hand clutching the knife trembling violently. “N-not... okay...”

He swayed then, seemingly lightheaded, then fell back, barely catching himself with his one free hand. He looked only seconds away from passing out as his need for air took over his body’s panic, forcing him to suck in deep, slower gasps. It took every bit of self control he had not to take advantage of his weakness to go for the knife. He just had no way of knowing if he’d get there in time and the idea of frightening him into using it...

“Roy,” he ventured nervously, when it looked like his friend was finally breathing evenly enough to focus on something other than not passing out. “Roy. Give me the knife.”

His friend shook his head again, scrambling a foot backwards. Wild eyes darted over him then froze on his shoulder, the wound Maes couldn’t even feel he was so frightened, but abject horror washed over Roy’s face at the sight and he started shaking even harder and gasping all over again.

“It’s fine, Roy. You barely scratched me. I’m okay, Roy... now give me the knife.” He very slowly held out his hand, not close enough to touch him and not moving closer, either, knowing he had to let Roy make that choice. “It’s going to be all right. Just give me the knife and we can talk about this..."

“T-talk about this?!” Roy finally wheezed, voice hoarse and ragged. “There’s n-nothing... _get away from me, Maes!”_ The fist on the blade tightened further and his arm tensed as if preparing to draw the blade. _“GET AWAY!”_

“Roy, stop! Don’t you dare-!“

Roy froze, tensing further, hand shaking. He could tell it wasn’t his words that had stopped him but his own internal torment and the colonel gasped again, fighting with himself to find the strength to do it.

Whatever it was, Maes pounced on that moment of weakness, stomach a knot of terror and heart pounding so hard he could barely speak. “Drop the goddamn knife, you son of a bitch. Drop it now! Damn you, you’re better than this!”

Roy’s eyes sparked with livid hatred, anger glowing against a form still wracked and shuddering with sobs. “Shut up,” he hissed, voice rough with tears. “Shut up, Maes. Y-you... you don’t have _any idea...”_

“I know what you’re doing is wrong!”

 _“I don’t have a choice!”_ he screamed, shaking and crying. “I can’t do this anymore, Maes _-_ I don’t have a choice, it’s got _nothing_ to do with you-“

“ _Shut up!”_ Maes shouted back at him. “Not a choice?! You’re making a choice right the fuck now! You’re _deciding_ to give up! After _everything_ you’ve done you’re just deciding now to be a coward! You’re-”

“Coward?! A _coward?!_ You’re calling me a _coward?!”_ Roy looked about to go on screaming then doubled over in another choked sob, clutching his chest. “F- fuck you, M-Maes...

His heart ached with sickened guilt and he sank back, still trembling. Maes took a deep breath to force some measure of calm into his voice and went on, eyes never leaving the blade. “I can’t imagine how hard this, Roy. I know that. I can’t possibly ever understand what you’re going through.” He took another shuddering breath, heart threatening to shatter as his suicidal best friend doubled over in another sob. “But this isn’t right and you know it.”

“Don’t tell me what’s not right!” Roy shouted tearfully, wrenching away from him even though Maes hadn’t even moved. _“None of this is right! NONE OF IT, Maes!_ It’s wrong... it’s _wrong..._ and I can’t make it right- I c-can’t- there’s nothing more- I- this is all I can- _I-_ my- only choice-“

“No, you _shut up,_ Roy! Don’t act sit there and act like this is some rational, thought out decision! Don’t act like this is _logical!_ You didn’t feel like this this morning, you didn’t feel like this an hour ago, this is only because of what just happened at the Rockbells and you know it, you stupid _shit,_ so put the _fucking_ knife down before you kill yourself over a bad night.”

It sounded horrible to his own ears the instant he said it, so miserably ineffectual and harsh for a splitsecond Maes couldn’t be anything except horrified with himself. What the hell did he think _that_ was going to do? Did he think berating him and yelling at him that what he’d just relived was just a _bad night_ was somehow going to get Roy to listen to him? Did he actually think that insulting him was the way to go here?!

But, then, Roy did slow at his words.

The gasps quieted a little, easing into deeper, calmer breaths, and some of that frenetic, unhinged terror in his eyes softened into something... less. Less of everything. Less frightened, less desperate, less angry, less anguished...

And more certain.

Maes’ heart stopped.

“Don’t presume,” Roy said, very quietly, “to think that I am such a child, I would die over _one bad night.”_

With his free hand, the one on the knife never wavering an inch, he reached calmly towards his shirt pocket, withdrew that picture of him and Elicia he’d been carrying for two months straight.

He looked at it.

Then, without hesitation, he set it on the ground.

“I’m sorry, Maes,” he said, and did not sound it at all. “I tried. I tried, and I can’t.

Call me a coward if you want... you’re probably right.” He smiled again, and shut his eyes.  “...Goodbye, Maes.”

Maes froze.

No... no, no, no... he wanted Roy angry, wanted him yelling, wanted him fighting, but _this-_ defeat, _resignation..._

He was giving up.

“Roy, _no,”_ he choked desperately, sobbing as he reached out, that harsh and unyielding mask from before dissolving like he’d just dosed it in acid, aching to pull his friend into his arms and protect him- even if only from himself. “I didn’t mean- please, please don’t do this-“

“Don’t take it back now, you asshole. You were right.” Roy giggled madly in hysteria, this time trembling so much with the motion the sharp edge scraped against his throat and drew a drop of blood. To see that streak down his pale neck, a long, gruesome trail of crimson, made his heart stop. “You were right, Maes... I’m a pathetic coward.”

Tears streaked down his cheeks still, glistening palely in the dim moonlight, white trails of abject misery along the scarlet one of near death, and Maes could scarcely breathe.

“No, Roy... that’s- that’s not what I meant...”

“Then perhaps you should’ve meant it,” he laughed and cried, fingers shaking dangerously again in his unbalanced state. “I’ve managed nothing this whole time... it’s been _months_ and what have I done? What have I done?! I’m still this pathetic wreck, this weak excuse for a man... and all I’ve done is...” Dark, frantic eyes lingered on the blood dripping down Maes’ shoulder again.

Maes shook his head at him, barely resisting the urge to start shouting. “This is _nothing,_ Roy. It’s _nothing!_ No- no, I know what you’re doing. Don’t you _dare_ use me as an excuse for this, you rotten son of a bitch. I’m here begging you not to do this and you’re still going to try and blame me? _No!_ If you’re going to make me watch as you kill yourself then the very _least_ you can do is give the real reason why, you fucking _coward!”_ And then he was shouting again after all, but he couldn’t help himself. He _couldn’t_ stop himself from yelling, faced with him just being one wrong move away from having his best friend bleed out in his arms and knowing there was nothing he could do to stop it. He was furious and scared and upset and just not strong enough to control himself, tears of frustrated anguish welling as he fought desperately to keep him from giving up in the worst possible way.

Roy stared at him, the look on his face so tortured it was all Maes could do to hold his gaze. His eyes were red and still streaming, but almost as an afterthought; even crying his breaths were still calm and unbroken, eyes overflowing like a remainder of the fight he had already given up on. When he finally managed to choke out an answer, his voice was so distraught, it was physically painful to hear.

“What are you asking from me, Maes?” he pressed quietly, the knife quivering against his throat. “What are you telling me I have to work for anymore? You want me to go to Ishval? There’s nothing left of me to give them. You want me to stay in the military, still try for Fuhrer?” He laughed softly, the sound heavy in the night. “Please, Maes. Don’t lie to me. You know as well as I do, as well as Archer did, I’ve already good and lost any chance I ever had for that.”

Maes’ mouth, already open to rebuke what he’d said, shut. At the sedate, resigned acceptance in Roy’s voice, his voice failed him, and cold horror pierced through him again, leaving him trembling in terror on the icy ground.

He hadn’t brought it up- had desperately been avoiding even thinking of it, as it were. Frantically just _not_ mentioning anything that Archer had ever said, because he hadn’t wanted to even consider it.

He hadn’t wanted to have _this_ conversation... and, oh, god, had he never wanted to have it like _this._

Because Roy was correct.

It wasn’t fair or acceptable. It wasn’t _right._ But it didn’t mean that, in his plan to take down Roy as someone who could ever be Fuhrer, Archer had been wrong.

The military wouldn’t follow him any longer.

His staff would. Hawkeye would, Ed would, Maes would; there was no question that those that had already sworn themselves to him would never let something like _this_ change it. But the others- those that only knew the rumors flying around the military now no matter how hard he’d tried to stop it? The command council? The generals who already couldn’t stand him, who would stop at nothing to ruin his reputation and turn the public against him?

All they knew was what the image Archer had tried to create.

Used. Unstable. Broken. Crazy.

Weak.

And the next of Fuhrer of Amestris would have to be strong.

_No one wants a whore for Fuhrer._

“You... you d-don’t know that,” Maes whispered at last, but the words tasted like a disgusting lie in his mouth, “you don’t- what anyone else thinks, that doesn’t matter, Roy, they’re wrong-“

Roy shuddered so hard the knife scraped hard against his throat again, drawing another line of blood. “Don’t fucking lie to me. Don’t fucking pretend I can lead the military when half of them think I was a whore that wanted it and the other half thinks I’m a lunatic. It _does_ matter what they think and _no one_ will follow this, Maes. ...No one will.”

“Fuhrer’s not the only way, Roy, there are other paths we can-“

“Shut up.”

_“Roy!”_

The colonel shut his eyes, not even looking at him anymore. Another sob came, breaking into an unbearably tired declaration of defeat, and then he ducked his head, curling around himself in a terrified, protective ball... with that knife still resting in the hollow of his throat. “They took away everything else that I had,” he whispered, not even to Maes anymore, to himself, “you can’t tell me it’s worth it anymore when every day hurts this much and I can’t even- if I can’t be Fuhrer to fix this country- if every day is _this-“_

“It’ll get better! You don’t know-“

“It won’t. This is what it is. It’s been months and this is all it is. It’s not gotten _better_ , Maes. It’s never going to.” He paused, hand trembling around the deadly weapon, blood washing down his throat to stain the collar of his shirt in a macabre, horrifying necklace of crimson.

 

The words were so indescribably pained Maes gasped, heartache and sympathy stabbing through him like a blade sharper than the one pressed against his friend’s throat. Roy curled over into himself, crying and sobbing miserably like a lost child, shining scalpel trembling along his neck.

His best friend was begging him to let him kill himself.

For a moment, the anger that was all he’d had going for him dropped out from underneath him and all that was left was black, hopeless despair and agony. Roy was sitting here literally _begging_ him to just lie him die. That he was in so much pain he couldn’t see a way out except ending it. And he could not lie to himself and say this was a surprise. He’d known all along this could happen. _Known_ this whole time how much his friend was struggling and that he just might turn to suicide. And he hadn’t ignored it, either- he’d seen what desperately pretending it wasn’t true had gotten him, after Ishval. He’d spent this whole time trying as hard as he could do drag Roy, kicking and screaming if he had to, out of this black, soulcrushing depression and give him _something_ to grasp at and live for.

And even with him giving everything that he had- it still wasn’t enough.

That day weeks ago came back to him now, when Roy had finally woken up and destroyed his room, convinced beyond all measure of reason that he hadn’t been rescued...

He’d been begging to to just be allowed to die.

And no matter hard Maes had tried, it seemed he really hadn’t accomplished anything at all.

He still wanted that. That was still the only mercy he was asking for.

Just to be allowed to give up and die.

No. _No._ He couldn’t. He just- _no!_

“This is what you want, then?” he whispered, voice indescribably weak in the night. _“This,_ Roy?” He gestured at his stricken friend. At his shaking shoulders. His distraught face. The blood already running down the hollow of his throat.

Roy folded in on himself again, breaking his gaze to stare hollowly at the ground. The knife wavered dangerously against his neck. “I just want it to stop,” he breathed at last. “That’s all I want, Maes.”

The emptiness and defeat radiating from the statement was nearly enough to break him.

But it couldn’t, because this was not about him.

“And you’re willing to do even this to get that?”

Roy flinched a little, squeezing his eyes shut. “Shut up. Don’t... don’t make this harder than it already is for me. Don’t- d- _don’t-“_

“Don’t _what?”_ he snapped, desperation tinged with anger flaring again. “Don’t fucking challenge you? Don’t fucking _stop_ you?! You’re telling me if you were sitting there watching me holding a knife to my throat, _you’d_ just watch me do it?!”

Roy flinched again, violently cringing backwards as if the very thought caused him great pain. He opened his mouth but didn’t answer, apparently unable to force himself to lie but knowing he couldn’t say the truth, either, not when he was begging Maes to do just that, and seeing weakness, Maes struck.

“No, you son of a bitch- you don’t get to do that. _No,_ damn you. You want this so bad? You look me in the eye, then, Roy Mustang, and you _tell me_ this is what you want. _Do it!_ Right here, right now! If you can’t do even that then you don’t want this, Roy! Not enough for me to let you give up now!”

Roy shuddered violently, still silent, still trembling so badly it terrified him. But he didn’t speak again.

“Is this what you want, Roy?!” he shouted again. “I’m not talking about being Fuhrer, or what just happened at the Rockbells, or how miserable you are, or any _excuses._ I’m asking you if _this_ what you want. Because if it is, then open your mouth, look me in the eye, and _say it._ Face me like a man and _say it,_ Roy.”

And still, he said nothing.

His heart hammering painfully hard and fast in his chest, Maes again took advantage. He swallowed and inched himself forward over the grass, moving slowly enough to ensure not to startle him but reaching forward carefully all the same. Roy watched his every move, breathing so hard he surely wasn’t getting any air at all, and Maes came even closer, stilling only when his fingers were hovering over the steel blade.

“If you really wanted this,” he said quietly, “you wouldn’t have just wasted your time trying to convince me to let you do it.”

Roy stiffened.

“I’m going to take the knife, now,” he went on quietly after letting those words weigh on the air, eyes locked with Roy’s. He waited for a moment, terrified Roy was suddenly going to throw himself out of reach and end it all, because this was not over, he’d not won by any definition, just stunned him into inaction- but his friend just continued to stare at him, gasping and in shock. He didn’t even flinch when Maes wrapped his fingers around the weapon, careful not to touch him, and then, very carefully, pulled back with it.

He wanted to relax, when the knife was finally away from Roy’s throat.

When he tried, closing his eyes and realizing the full enormity of what had just happened, he very quickly wrenched himself away from the edge again. Something agonizing had loosened in his chest, sudden tears burning in his eyes, and he clenched his jaw against anguish, abruptly all too desperate not to give in.

Across from him, Roy just stared blankly at the ground, pale shoulders trembling in the dark. He looked dreadfully lost and in shock, a single line of blood tracing down the hollow of his throat. Slowly, one hand lifted off the ground, touching the stain, then pulling away so he could stare at it. One new metal finger hung limply, lifeless, and next to it was the empty space where another finger should’ve been. Somehow, the sight seemed to just... fit. Broken, and permanently incomplete. Even the parts of him that could be fixed, only in some pathetic, terrible, half-attempt that would never, ever measure up to who he’d been before. That something had been taken from, violently robbed, and the hole it had left was raw and bleeding and always would be.

“I don’t know what you want from me, Maes,” Roy whispered, and dropped his hand back to the ground.

Maes closed his eyes, sorrow choking in his throat, and wished for everything to just end.

“Roy,” he said at last. In was in a trembling, miserable monotone, his voice low and wretched. His hands were shaking, and he wrapped them around himself, trying only for a moment to keep himself and his voice steady before he just gave up and let it crack, desperation bleeding through to show what a pathetic, helpless friend he truly was. “I know that you like to pretend your selfish. I’m also your best friend. I know that you’re not. I know that you’re actually one of the most selfless people I’ve ever known. So right now, I’m going to be selfish, and ask you to be selfless for us, one last time.”

It took several seconds for Roy to look at him, dark eyes hesitantly flickering up from the ground to watch him. The pain he saw in his wet, sore looking eyes was enough to steal the breath from his chest, but he forged on, because if after what he had just done, Roy could still look at him, then Maes could damn well still look at him too. “Do it for us. Okay? I’m going to be cliche. I’m going to be pathetic. If you say you’ve got nothing left to live for, then... then do it so my daughter doesn’t have to grow up without a godfather. Do it, so I don’t have to go home and tell my wife that I failed you.” He waited for a heartbeat, and when Roy didn’t yell at him to shut up he inched forward, leaning on his hands and again _begging_ him with all his heart to just give this a chance. “Do it for your staff, because you know it’ll kill them if you do this, Roy. Do it for Hawkeye, because it’ll kill _her._ Do it because out of everyone in the world, you know, he’s never told you this, but Ed’s already decided that _you_ are going to be the first person to see after he fixes Alphonse, because without you none of this would’ve ever been possible for them.”

He broke off, throat tightening as Roy just fucking _looked_ at him, looked at him like Maes could just lie the world at his feet and it’d not ever be enough. And the thing was, he knew that. He’d known it from the start. Nothing he gave would ever, _ever_ be enough. Too much of him had been lost, too much of who he was had been killed and there was never getting it back. _Nothing_ Maes could ever give him would ever be able to change the fact that it was sheer anguish to live when it felt as if he’d already died, and that Roy was in so much pain now all he was asking for was peace and that was the one thing that Maes could never give him.

That was why he was doing this. Because suicide was many, many things, but what he knew for sure was that it was selfish. And his best friend was not that. Roy would swallow his own suffering without complaint if it meant sparing the people he cared for.

Because maybe he was selfish, too.

Maybe there was a part of him that, no matter how much Roy _hurt,_ still couldn’t stand to just throw in the towel and let him have his peace.

He didn’t want to live in a world without his best friend.

“Do it so I don’t have to watch you die, and spend the rest of my life hating myself, wondering what I should’ve done to save you.”

Roy just closed his eyes, tilting his head away.

And Maes was crying now, which was really damn pathetic, because his suicidal best friend sat across from him looking as if he didn’t have a care in the world but it was _Maes_ who couldn’t keep himself together, his breaths hitching, his chest tight, words lurching into broken sobs as he _begged._ “Let me be selfish, and ask you to be selfless for me. And in r-return, I’ll- I’ll do w- _whatever_ I can to someday make it worth it for you. I will g-give you... everything I can... so j-just- please, Roy. Please, let me try.”

Not for Roy, but because Maes Hughes was selfish, and if Roy didn’t let him try he himself would die, a part of him that that bastard colonel had taken a long time ago by virtue of being his best friend and would take with him to his tortured grave.

Roy was silent for a long while. The only sounds in the night air were their breaths; Roy’s, steady and calm, and Maes’, unsteady and broken.

Finally, the slumped man cleared his bleeding throat and spoke.

“This isn’t fair of you to ask me, Maes.”

It was in a voice so small the wind nearly stole it away. Maes’ head drooped under the weight of its burden, tears streaming unabashedly down his cheeks now that his hand was shaking too hard to wipe away. “I know,” he whispered, and his voice was even smaller than Roy’s.

Again, it was quiet for a moment.

“I’m tired, Maes.”

Sorrow drove a tortured gasp from his lungs, and he hung his head again, fists kneading in the dirt. “I know.”

“I want to stop now, Maes.”

His heart gave in, quaking in terror at the lethal tear that was about to rip it straight in two. “I k- _know.”_

“You m-make me furious for using my staff, fucking Ed, your own _daughter_ like this-“

For the first time emotion had shook in his voice, rising with it until he’d abruptly cut himself off just before his voice was about to break. It sound like a young, fragile sort of thing, if he tested it at all it’d surely break, so Maes just bowed his head again, accepting the responsibility, and moaned, “I know.

“I hate you for doing this to me, Maes.”

A tear pressed out of his eye, still squeezed tightly shut, to force its way down his cheek, pale and stark in the moonlight, and the man sucked in a shuddering breath, nearly shattering underneath the weight of his own grief. He looked like he was about to collapse in on himself, and when Maes just choked out another, “I _know,”_ he slumped over on his hands and knees, gasping out each breath like it killed him.

Roy was silent for a moment, anguish radiating from him to such a horrifying level it pierced Maes through like a knife. His shoulders shook, broken hands clutching at the grass and legs curling closer to his chest as if a last ditch effort to hold himself together and not fall apart. His eyes wrenched open again, pale face tilted back up to the moonlight.

His breaths hitched once, twice.

And he _screamed._

It was a heartbreaking, wretched cry, earsplitting in its devastation and gutwrenching in its anguish. It was base like an animal, a poor helpless beast caught in a steel trap with no hope for it left but to bleed to death or gnaw its own leg off. The long, wordless wail ripped from him like it was being dragged out of his lungs, a keening thing of suffering that lasted until his breath ran out, but even as the cry dwindled into a croaked gasp it still rang in his ears, echoing to tear his soul in two, such sheer grief stabbing him through he had to turn away until Roy just collapsed. His arms and legs gave out on him and he slammed onto his stomach, hitting the grass where he huddled up and stayed, distraught face pressed into the ground.

But he was alive, and he’d committed to staying that way.

That was all Maes could ever ask him for.

Maes let him stay where he was, too worn and drained himself to even imagine going back to face the Rockbells now and sure Roy was a hundred times worse. Just the idea of walking back there felt exhausting, and just looking at the colonel, Roy was in no shape to do it either. He just sat on the cold grass next to him, feeling the even colder scalpel gripped in his hand, stained with slick blood, and he watched Roy, feeling like his heart had just been mangled and wrung out like a used dish rag and the remaining pieces trampled on by a herd of rampaging elephants. It hurt to breathe, and for a while, he could only feel miserable guilt, because he knew Roy was in far worse pain than he was, and he also knew absolutely nothing he did could drag him out of it.

He was useless. Useless and pathetic.

Finally, when the quaking in Roy’s slim shoulders had grown from emotional turmoil induced to a baser response to the cold, he shoved back down his own grief and pain and held out his hand, getting to his knees. “Come on,” he whispered, not quite able to meet those dead, dead eyes. “We should go back.”

Like a puppet to his puppetmaster’s command, Roy accepted his hand, allowing himself to be hauled upwards to his feet without raising his gaze to look at him. He swayed once upright, knees trembling for a beat until he regained his balance and straightened fully, removing his hand from Maes’.

Calmly, the colonel turned, and punched him across the face.

He reeled almost down to his knees, so thrown and thoroughly struck. Roy still wasn’t looking at him, gazing blankly at some point past his shoulder, his face showing no reaction, but Maes couldn’t help but raise a hand to his jaw, clambering back to his feet even more unsteady than before. “You know,” he said, voice still raw and pained, “I’m going to get you back for that someday.”

“Yes,” Roy agreed darkly. “Someday.”

Then he turned his back, and left Maes standing alone under the dark tree, bloody scalpel clutched in hand and wondering just how much further into this nightmare they could possibly get.

* * *

Returning to the Rockbells was a strange, uncomfortable experience. There was no mention of attempting the automail surgery again that night, or questions about why Roy’s neck was bleeding or why it looked like they’d both been crying. Winry hung back, staring openly at Roy in some vague mix of disbelief and horror, while Pinako just smoked by the doorway, features drawn and unreadable.

Maes did his best to ignore them both, and just pulled Roy back to his room, hustled him inside, and shut the door behind him.

Roy was still and silent, dark eyes still downcast as Maes moved around the room, gathering up any sharp objects he could find and not bothering to illusion anything that he was doing. One by one he piled them in a discarded box to be taken outside, not saying a word. The final touch was the bloody scalpel, and that one was more hurled downwards than just dropped onto the pile, and it took more self control than he wanted to admit to just lift the box up and set it out in the hallway, rather than throw the damn thing and slam the door after it.

Task complete, Maes found himself pausing, shoulders trembling with errant remainders of grief and sorrow as he just stared at the door, fighting not to give in under the weight of responsibility crashing down around him. What was he supposed to do now? What was he supposed to _say?_ God help him following Roy’s lead and just never speaking again certainly seemed appealing now, but he knew that wasn’t a real option- but...

Maes jumped, one cold hand latching firmly onto his shoulder from behind.

Roy still did not so much as look at him. Black eyes on the ground, he tugged, pulling him into following him as the colonel walked steadily back, leading him silently to sit down on the edge of the bed. He raised a hand, revealing the sharp needle he must’ve slipped into his sleeve while Maes had been clearing the room, then wordlessly reached for Maes’ shoulder.

He held very still, watching without speaking. He looked on as Roy calmly shifted the bloodstained collar of his shirt away, baring the still sluggishly bleeding wound. It wasn’t deep, but looking at it now, he could see that Roy had ripped through the burns he’d given him just days ago, after being shot. The shirt was ruined, and blood stains dripped all the way down the lengths of his arm.

In all of the frantic chaos since he’d sustained it, Maes hadn’t even felt it. But, before he could stop him, say it wasn’t that bad, Roy moved closer and began to carefully stitch the wound shut.

Unbidden, his throat tightened again, and Maes found himself forced into looking away, unable to bear the sight.

For a while, it was perfectly silent, the only sounds the quick snip of the scissors and the zip of the thread as the wound was tugged shut. Maes squeezed his eyes shut, taking in a pained breath, listening to his best friend sit there with all the calm in the world while it felt as if his own world was collapsing, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

“I’m sorry,” he forced out at last, voice thick and barely present at all.

Roy paused. “I know,” he said quietly, and continued stitching.

The wound was small, and even with the colonel out of practice and neither hand complete, he finished quickly. Maes felt him tie off the last stitch, then his cold hands and the metal scissors withdraw, Roy leaning back to behold his handiwork. Maes, for his part, now found himself staring at his feet, almost wary of so much as looking his best friend in the eye.

After several moments, Roy moved again, standing up beside him. Again Maes found himself watching his feet to follow his progress, the man walking across the small room to stand by the window. There was a heartbeat of silence, then the _snip, snip_ of the scissors again.

Startled, Maes looked up.

Roy stood in front of window, the dark night turning the glass into a vaguely reflective, shadowy sort of mirror that had reduced his image to indistinct greys and blacks. The scissors were clasped in his right hand, the one with still just one automail finger, and he brought them deftly around his head, piece by piece cutting away at his hair.

Roy never had cut his hair back to its previous length. When they’d rescued him it’d been to his shoulders, blood matted and ragged, and though Maes had expected him to change it, Roy had never once shown any sign that he really cared, one way or the other. He’d left it alone, always vaguely unkempt and uncared for, and when Ed, he thought, had made some sort of comment about him looking like a wild man now, Roy’s only response had been to look away, one hand tangling in the long strands, and murmur, _and, what’s the point in looking otherwise?_

And now, here he was. Cutting away, one long section at a time.

Ashy black strands littered his shoulders and collar, which Roy paid no heed to. Slowly, the shoulder length tangles were hewn up to his neck, cropped close in a way he hadn’t seen for... god, it was nearly a year, now. Just less than a year, since this nightmare had begun. Granted, even now, the sight wasn’t familiar. His cheeks were hollow and face still gaunt, shoulders too small; somehow the military hair cut only made his lingering thinness and weakness stand out even more. And with the obscuring hair cut now out of the way, Maes could suddenly see the scars he’d been hiding until now, permanent brands now bared; terrible, disgusting scars that were suffering and abuse defined.

The number on the back of his neck, now on full display.

He didn’t look like the headstrong revolutionary he’d spent years creating.

But, when at last the man had finished, and stood straight-backed before the smoky reflection, shoulders and front dusted with hair like soot, then finally turned around to face him, he did, for the first time in a very long while, look like Roy again.

Silently, Roy touched the burn scar on the back of his neck, the brand he’d sustained months ago that had always weighed on him heavier than any iron shackles or steel chains. His eyes clouded for a moment, and he looked away, still touching the scar.

Then, without a word, he walked back towards him, and for the first time since he’d taken the blade from his best friend’s hands they looked each other in the eyes. After a moment, Roy held out his palm, offering him the sharp scissors without complaint or comment.

His dark, unreadable eyes lingered, expressing nothing no matter how hard Maes tried to see what was hidden there, and in the heavy silence, Maes at last simply lifted his hand and retrieved the blades from him.

The twitch at his mouth was very slight. So faint, if Maes hadn’t known his friend’s little half-smirks and restrained grins so well he wouldn’t have caught it at all. Even as it was, with the still haunted cast of his face and the memory of pain that would never leave in his eyes, with the thin trickle of blood along his throat, he almost completely missed the tiny shift for a smile.

Roy moved to walk past him, stopping briefly to draw an arm around him before he slipped past entirely. It was perhaps the first time any embrace had been initiated by Roy, not just in the past two months but ever since they’d met, years ago, and Maes stiffened, but Roy just smiled against his shoulder again at it and sighed.

“Thanks, Maes,” he said quietly.

Then, just as quickly, he slipped away, and walked out behind him.


	12. Chapter 5.5: Trainwreck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missing scene, taking place somewhere between chapters 5 and 6: Stealth missions, midnight snacks, drugs, and rooftop shenanigans. Everything’s all set for a fantastic night out. At least, that’s the way Maes will tell the story later, because remembering the parts about the mental breakdowns from his best friend is just a little too miserable for him to stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all!!! *coughs* ahhh, so... here I am again...? Bearing more chapters of an obscene length, super sad Maes, very traumatized Roy, and general fucked up ness no one asked for......?
> 
> Well, basically, back when I was writing chapter 5, I ended up writing around 20,000 words of random nonsense and unused material before I finally managed the final product. The beginning of this scene comes from there. The rest of it comes from- well, hell if I know; maybe I just wanted to abuse Roy and/or hug him because I haven’t had enough Roy hurt lately in my life. (And, yes. This is what I was working on instead of the next part of the mute Hughes fic. That one is next.) But, for now- enjoy, my lovelies!!! <3

That night, many hours after he’d given up the fruitless task of nervously watching Roy sleep and gone to sleep himself, he was woken up by the grating, gut-twisting sound of shattering glass.

Already permanently on edge now, jerking awake with every sigh and rustle of sheets from across the room, the chilling sound shook him wide awake in an instant. Before he’d even processed what could possibly be happening, one hand was groping for his glasses, the other pushing himself upright. He blinked rapidly to focus in the dim lighting, another shiver shooting down his spine at the sound, then stiffened.

Roy wasn’t in his bed.

And this time, where he was instead was enough to make his heart stop.

The sight was enough to paralyze him, in his still half-asleep state. Maes just stared silently at his best friend, mouth open and limbs limp and frozen in cold fear. When he finally managed to shake himself out of it, his heart pounding, his hands were still trembling as he pushed himself to his feet, mouth dry.

His approach was far from silent, but Roy didn’t even twitch at the sound of footsteps behind him. He did, however, lean a little farther forward, weak grip trembling on the window sill, and Maes inched forward that much faster.

When he’d made it behind him and Roy still hadn’t moved, Maes, clenching his jaw, slipped around him to stand in his line of sight. He debated between saying something and just pulling him back without words; in the end, settled for the former, hoping not to startle him.

“What are you doing?”

Roy hummed quietly in his throat, eyes glazed and distant. Maes could tell he wasn’t really awake; he looked half asleep, still swaying with the powerful painkillers the nurse had given him before leaving them alone for the night, but Maes wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing as he cautiously moved nearer, looking him up and down.

Somehow- in his state, Maes would _never_ understand how- he’d managed to cross the room quietly enough to not get his attention. What he _had_ done to wake him up was shatter the window.

Maes wasn’t sure what he’d done, exactly; his knuckles were unscathed, suggesting he hadn’t punched his way through the glass, but one of the arrays on his hands was bleeding again. He immediately decided not to ask him about it now. Once he got Roy away from the window and broken glass...

“Didn’t mean to break it,” he murmured, so suddenly Maes started. “I’m sorry.” He tilted his head back with another hum, slurred speech stumbling to a halt with a small, disturbingly young smile.

Once again, Maes had to bite his tongue. _How do you accidentally break a window?!_ he wanted to hiss, _You’re a grown man, not a child with a baseball!_ But yelling at him was guaranteed to make this even worse, and besides, Maes already knew the anger was misplaced. He didn’t give a shit about the broken glass. He was furious because he’d woken up and seen Roy and- _later, Maes, damn it, later._

“It’s fine.” He put a hand on his shoulder, gently trying to coax him backwards. “Come on, buddy, let’s go sit down...”

Roy was just a little too resisting for him to be pulled away, though; he still clung to the window, grunting at him when Maes tried to pull him away. “I just wanted to look outside.” He tilted his head back further, stretching, nearly _preening_ in the faint moonlight, reveling like it was the best thing he’d ever felt in his life. “I saw the window, a-and I, I wanted... outside... but it was in the way...”

Clenching his jaw, Maes tightened his grip on his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it,” he said tightly; just about the only thing he ever seemed to be able to say, nowadays. Not _it’s okay,_ not something helpful, not something he could actually use, just _later, we’ll deal with it later._ He hated himself. “Roy-“

“Can I go outside? Maes?” The colonel pulled away from him again, gripping at the wall and trying to stumble forward. He still didn’t really look that awake or coherent, voice low with a young, eager sort of desire as he strained forwards with a sloppy grin. “I want to. I haven’t- I... I forget... ’s been s-so long, Maes...”

He went still, stomach turning.

Sadness welled tightly in Maes’ throat, the hand on his best friend’s shoulder falling slack. It took him a moment to find the reason behind the mumbled request, but he once did he couldn’t speak, stricken and _far_ too miserable to deny him. Oh.

He just wanted to go outside.

Because, how many months had it been since he’d been able to?

He closed his eyes tightly, another griefstricken breath leaving him with anguish. The only thing that kept him going was that he knew this wasn’t right; Roy could barely stand and just, like this, with him half-awake and barely aware, it wasn’t right. He couldn’t think about how brutally sick this was or how much he wanted to kill those people right now because it would help nothing.

His hands were still shaking, when he them on Roy’s shoulders again, and no matter how hard he tried, he could not stop his voice from cracking.

“I... later, Roy... later, all right? C-come on... let’s go...”

But Roy kept on resisting, refusing to let himself be guided back to the bed. “No, I... _now...”_ He slipped away from the hand on his shoulder, bracing himself against the wall with an unsteady breath. “I want to now,” he repeated calmly- and then, with an unerring air of normalcy, tried to hitch a leg up to climb outside.

The man’s lack of balance and exhaustion kicked in first, just a split second before Maes reached him again, jerking out to roughly grab him by the arms and haul him so roughly backwards they _both_ nearly overbalanced and fell.

“What the _fuck-_ Roy!” Any regards for keeping him calm were lost as he yanked him away, pinning him place with an unyielding arm around his shoulders, suddenly almost shouting in his ears. “What’s wrong with you?! _We’re on the second floor!”_

Roy shook weakly in his grip, head tilted to the side, gentle breeze from the outside rustling his hair and sending a freezing chill down Maes’ spine. Unbidden, his gaze jerked away from his placid best friend, to the window, and the fifteen foot drop that waited for him there.

And Roy, utterly unbothered by it all, just stood there, now limp and unprotesting, now staring distantly out the window with an empty lack of comprehension. Still horrified, Maes refused to let him go, his heart pounding in his chest, too stunned to do anything but just stand there and hold him back from the window.

“...Oh,” the colonel said at last, and his shoulders slumped.

Gritting his teeth, Maes shut his eyes, forcing out an unsteady breath through refusing to loosen his hold in the slightest. It wasn’t Roy’s fault. He was tired and clearly not in his right mind. By the sound of it he honestly just had wanted to go outside, and the fact that they were on the second floor just had not even occurred to him as important... yelling at him for this now would accomplish _nothing._ Later. He’d deal with it later. Right now he just wanted to get Roy the hell away from that window. “Come on,” he snapped weakly, now tugging him backwards without giving him any choice in the matter.

Roy stumbled, tripping over his own feet as he tried to stay where he was, only kept on his feet by Maes’ tight arm around his shoulders. “No,” he insisted drowsily, “I... _but...”_

“But nothing. _Come on.”_

At the harsh, unyielding words, the man finally stopped fighting him, and after a moment of consideration, Maes turned Roy around to grip him by the arm, gentle enough not to hurt but tight enough to hopefully make him realize pulling away again wouldn’t get him anywhere. He led Roy away, and the colonel actually cooperated this time, allowing himself to be guided off until he realized Maes wasn’t taking him back to sit down, but the door.

Then, he balked.

A low whimper resonated in his throat as he tried to pull away, eyes abruptly wide. He wasn’t strong enough to break Maes’ hold but he tried still, thin, cold arm tugging in his grip, dark head shaking back and forth. “No,” he groaned, although Maes almost wanted to call it a whine, it sounded so petulant to his ears. “Maes-“

“Actually, _yes,”_ he snapped back, and damn it, he didn’t mean it, but he was frazzled and exhausted and sorry, but being woken up at god knew when in the morning to see his best friend with a foot out the window was _not_ helping him be gentle about this. If Roy wanted kid gloves- well, ironically, he was going to get it, because the way Maes wasn’t going to let go of his arm now was reminding him of how he’d had to start holding Elicia’s hand to get her to stop running off from him into the street.

The difference was Elicia just didn’t realize how dangerous it was. Roy did, and that...

That was terrifying.

“But-“

“I’m sorry, but I’m not sure what you want from me, Roy. Are you asking me to just go get a nurse and leave you here by yourself? And, I don’t know, just trust I won’t walk back in here to find you took a two story drop?” He gripped the man’s arm even tighter now, just too shaken and exhausted to think better of it. “Or just leave the window until morning? And again, just trust you won’t decide to head off outside again?” He knew it wasn’t fair even as he said it, but, just... Roy could not do this. It had been the same after Ishval, but now even worse; not suicidal, but just an amazingly flippant disregard for his own life. Maes could stop Roy from hurting himself, but he couldn’t be there every second to pull him out of the way of danger he damn well should’ve not gotten himself into in the first place _. Damn it,_ it should’ve been evolutionarily _impossible_ for a man to so completely ignore the base instinct for self-preservation, but did that stop Roy Stubborn Ass Mustang? No, of course not...

“Just... just come on,” he grumbled, shaking his head to clear it, and pulled on Roy’s arm again.

But Roy yanked backwards again, with a surprising amount force for one so weak and exhausted. “You d-don’t have to t... tell them,” he slurred with great difficulty, struggling to get the words out. He blinked hard, like he was trying to focus. “I’m sorry. I didn’t m-mean to- I’ll- I can fix it. I’m sorry.” He started to scratch at one of his arrays again, leaning away from Maes, straining to withdraw back towards the window. “I’m sorry, I... I messed up. Don’t tell them. Please.”

He sounded so honestly, innocently apologetic that Maes found himself faltering, irritation silenced into misery as Roy tried to tug away again. He bit his lip again, some of the tension unfurling as Roy strained to pull away again. “I’ll fix it,” he said again, with a touch of desperation now, “I’m sorry... d-don’t say anything, please don’t say anything...”

“Roy...” Sighing, he loosened his grip, not letting him go still but turning it from a rough hand around his bicep to a gentler one on his shoulder. “It’ll be okay. No one’s going to be upset with you for breaking a window. Okay?” He swallowed when he realized the shoulder under his palm was trembling, his dark eyes wide with fear far more base, far more primitive, than Maes’ worry about leaving Roy in here alone for any length of time. “But I have to tell-“

“It was an accident. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. I just wanted to go outside, I’m sorry, I didn’t-“ The quiet, almost frantic words dissolved into a miserable grunt as he tried another tug. His legs wavered, like he didn’t have the strength to remain upright much longer, but it didn’t stop him from leaning away from him again, instinctive fear trembling through him that Maes was powerless to stop. “Please, just let me fix it, don’t tell them, Maes...”

And, once again, Maes found himself stopped from following his better judgment just by that frantic, almost terrified look in his best friend’s eyes.

“...fine.”

Roy looked back at him, startled but eyes wide with a painfully, brutally honest kind of hope. Swallowing, Maes swiftly averted his eyes from it and started pulling on his arm again, this time back to his bed to sit down. “I won’t go tell them,” he promised hollowly, still unable to meet his eyes. It was a half truth, at best. He couldn’t very well lie when someone asked why the window in the room was broken; it plainly was not an accident, and it was obvious who had done it- but with Roy looking at him like that now he didn’t have the heart to say it. Nor did he have the heart to go back on his word and go fetch a nurse now.

He cleared his throat gruffly, still not really meeting his eyes. “I won’t go tell them now, okay? You don’t have to- to _fix_ anything, I know it was an accident; everything’s fine, so come on, all right? I won’t tell them now, I promise.” And once again, he tried pulling his friend back along another step.

Once again, Roy didn’t let him- but this time, it wasn’t because he was trying to go back to the window.

“Ack- _Roy!_ What are you- shit-“

But nothing he said dissuaded Roy from latching onto him with such force he nearly fell.

He may’ve been in better shape than Roy at the moment, but even standing had been starting to tire him out; abruptly saddled with a Roy-shaped deadweight was definitely too much and he backpedaled frantically, just trying to keep both of them on their feet. “Roy, let go, I’m going to-“ He exhaled, hard, as his knees hit the back of the bed and he toppled backwards, still breathing hard but now with a sigh of relief. He adjusted his grip on Roy, since the man _still_ was making no attempt to do it himself and would’ve hit the floor if Maes hadn’t grabbed him, but he couldn’t tell what was wrong. He weighed on Maes as completely as if he’d passed out, but he obviously hadn’t- “Roy, what are you-“

“Thank you,” came quietly by his ear, and Maes froze.

Not because of the low, almost painfully sincere gratitude.

But how he’d said it.

A low, warm breath, right next to his ear, and with a deep, coaxing sort of undertone that could only be described as sexual.

“Thank you,” he nearly _purred_ again, and, with a jolt, Maes realized the cold hand on his back was not there because he needed support.

Too stunned to move, too stunned to even think, Maes found himself absolutely paralyzed, sitting there frozen as one bandaged hand pushed at his chest, Roy leaning into him as if to push him back onto the bed, and his other hand rested so low on his hip his intentions could not be misread.

“Thank you so much...”

Mouth nauseously dry, his stomach bottoming out in shock and horror, Maes still sat there, stunned, as Roy pressed his face into his neck, murmuring another expression of gratitude against his collar before trying to kiss the skin.

“W... what are you... doing...?”

Roy hummed in his throat again. “Thanking you,” he said quietly, like it should be obvious, and tried to kiss at his neck again.

It took him several seconds of blank, horrified staring to start to process anything more than _this. is. wrong._ Like the fact that the hands on him were trembling, so badly Roy could barely grip the shirt he was now trying to move out of his way. Like the fact that even with him frozen into a horrified statue, Roy hadn’t even seemed to notice, still pressed up against him, one leg lifting around his back like it was just- just _habit._

Like the fact that even though Maes hadn’t forced or fought him in any way, and that by all indications this was something he _wanted_ to do _,_ he didn’t look happy.

He looked miserable.

His dark eyes refused to lift to look at him, downcast, lower lip and hands trembling every time he pulled back, face slipping into one of the saddest, most resigned looks Maes had ever seen his life. Despite the fact that no one was forcing him... despite the fact that he was the one who’d chosen to start this at all...

Maes didn’t know what this was; a horrifying _habit,_ or perhaps even an ingrained instinct now- and even _that_ would’ve been better than a clear-headed Roy honestly thinking this was something that had to be done; whatever it was it turned his stomach, and he couldn’t stand to give it any more thought than that. His own hands shaking, gut twisted like he was about to throw up, Maes gripped his best friend tightly by the shoulders and pulled him back mid-caress, pushing him out to arm’s length.

Before he could find his voice, though, because his throat and _god_ he didn’t know what to say, Roy reacted, flinching violently and ducking his head, a breath sucked in like he’d just been kicked in the stomach. “I’m sorry,” he stammered, trembling even harder now. “I’m sorry, I- I’m trying, I swear. Don’t tell him, I- I- I’m _sorry_ -“

 _“Roy,”_ he interjected firmly, shaking him as roughly as he dared, but Roy just shook his head not listening to him as he rambled on, voice increasingly choked and terrified.

“I’ll do better, I will, I just- m-my back hurts and I c-c-can’t-“

“Roy, _stop!”_ As much as it was to get through to Roy it was selfish, too; he just wanted Roy to stop talking, to stop _sounding_ like that, so frightened and accepting of whatever Maes would do to him, to stop making him think about things he _really_ didn’t want to think about because in hurt in ways he couldn’t imagine as he shook him again, gripping his shoulders tightly. “Roy, you don’t have to do that anymore. You’re not there anymore, okay? You’re safe- hey, _listen_ to me. I’m not going to hurt you-...”

If anything, though, his words had just made Roy shake even worse. He didn’t know what the man was thinking, but it wasn’t on what he was saying, eyes still wide with fear and barely coherent, mouth working as he tried to justify himself but couldn’t.

The whole time, Maes noted, with a sick sense of sadness, Roy never tried to fight him.

“I’m sorry,” he finally mumbled again, dark eyes colored with such resignation and defeat it felt like a kick to the face. “I-“ He started to lean forward again, head tilting to bring his mouth back to his throat.

Maes raised a hand, and struck him firmly across the face.

It wasn’t a blow or a slap, rather an unyielding, open palm that he brought forwards just hard enough for Roy to feel it but gentle enough not to hurt. It landed solidly on his cheek with sound of a warm _smack_ , one that emanated throughout the room in the now dead silence, and Roy froze.

Maes watched him carefully, heart in his throat, and prayed it hadn’t been a mistake.

Roy blinked, mouth opening into a silent, little _oh._ His eyes widened, he blinked again- and finally, for the first time all night, he was wide awake.

Roy just stared at him for several seconds, face torn and shocked in the dim light, then abruptly yanked away. This time, Maes let him go, his heart aching, stomach still twisted in shock and disgust, and he watched as the other man lurched unsteadily to nearly collapse on his own bed, legs shaking and breaths unsteady and audible, even from here.

“R-Roy- Roy, I-...”

The words died in Maes’ throat as he stared at his best friend, anguished uncertainly and guilt curling inside of him and refusing to allow him rest. Striking him seemed to have worked, at least, waking him up to where he was and what was going on around him- but if he’d been hoping to calm him down at all, god, he’d only accomplished the exact opposite. Roy wasn’t even looking at him anymore, just sitting there on the edge of his bed with his head down, limp and shaking and in shock. His wretchedly pale face looked as if honestly didn’t understand or couldn’t process what had just happened- almost sickened with disbelief.

“...Roy,” he started weakly again, aghast. “I’m... I...”

God, what on earth was he supposed to say? That he _understood?_ He didn’t, he couldn’t possibly understand what this was like or what his friend was going through, _ever-_ but that wasn’t the point; he at least understood why Roy would- would act like that, would try and do that, would-

Maes abruptly, yet again, found himself so fucking angry with the people that had done this to Roy he wanted to kill them.

“...Sorry,” his best friend mumbled from across the room, voice small, then went perfectly silent.

Maes swallowed tightly, watching him. “It’s... all right,” he managed at last, voice just as weak as Roy’s. Because it wasn’t all right in the slightest, and both of them knew it.

But something had to be said, and saying that was easier than acknowledging an apology he couldn’t stand to hear.

Roy shivered again, head still down as he shifted a little, turning his head just enough to he could see the broken window again; the nightmare that had just started this all. “I’m sorry,” he repeated again, voice even smaller than before, and hugged himself through another shudder. “I didn’t mean... to...”

“...I know. It’s... it’s okay, R-“

“Don’t _call me that!”_

Maes flinched at the violent cry, heart screeching to an agonized stop.

The look on Roy’s face, anguish and hate melting together into a terrorstricken stare, hurt more than he thought possible.

This time, it was his turn to apologize. Or should’ve. But Roy came back to himself before Maes could even find his voice again, the horror and outright _fear_ in his eyes dissolving again as quickly as it had come, twisting into guilt and misery and apology all over again, a harsh breath leaving him like he’d just been sucker punched in the stomach. “I...” he started weakly, breaths trembling, “I... Maes...”

And then, abruptly, in a move that again hurt Maes almost more than he could stand, just doubled over to bury his face in his hands, thin shoulders trembling so hard he looked to be about to throw up.

“I’m so sorry,” he just barely heard, muffled into thin, destroyed hands as a miserable moan. His breaths hitched again, caught on a tortured sob. “I’m s-so... so sorry, Maes.”

This time, Maes was too sick at heart to tell him he had nothing to apologize for.

In the end, it didn’t even matter, because there was just nothing he could do at all but sit there and wait it out.

He ached to move over to Roy’s side, to try and get it through him _none_ of this was his fault, or at least to hold him; he couldn’t _bear_ just sitting here watching him huddle up and tremble, apologize and _sob-_ but what was he supposed to do? Being held, in his current state, would just make things worse. And Maes already knew words would never get through to him. Not now, maybe not ever. The only thing he could do was just stare at him, heart being torn to pieces with each suppressed, broken sob, and pretend like he was doing something for Roy by at least not letting him be alone.

The muffled gasps and choked back whimpers faded after only a minute or two, the tremors finally receding. The silence left in their wake was no more anguishing than the soft cries had been before it, and Maes continued to watch helplessly, heartbroken, as Roy just sat there across the room, shoulders hunched, head still buried in his hands.

“I’m... sorry,” he mumbled again at last, voice cracked and broken.

Maes’ stomach twisted again. “Buddy... please...”

“I... just wanted to go outside, Maes. That’s all. That’s really all that I meant to do, and I... this just... I’m sorry,” he finished as a whisper, sinking even more into himself. He hesitated again, lifting his head up just enough so his dark, sunken eyes, still shadowed by his long and matted hair, could meet his.

The tiny, weak flicker of anguished hope in them almost stopped his heart.

“Can... can we go? Please?” He shivered hard again, trembling on the edge of his bed but still holding his gaze, holding it like his life depended on it. “I’m sorry... I know it’s late, and what I’ve already done, I messed everything up, I’m sorry, and- and you’re still tired, I know that, and I- I hurt you, and- and I’m r-really sorry, M-Maes, I know y-you don’t want to, but I... I just... please?” His dark eyes flickered to the shattered window before jerking back to him, still trembling but earnest and eager now, the most honest look he’d given Maes since waking up. Since going _missing._ “T-they...” he started again, trembling harder, “they won’t l-let me... I broke the window, they’ll be- be angry... they won’t let me... Maes? Please?”

His heart cracked, and the resistance he knew he should give- he knew he _had_ to give- died.

He knew what Roy was afraid of right now. Or, at least, he thought he did. Roy knew he’d broken the window, knew it was impossible for him to hide that fact, and expected to be punished for it.

Just what that punishment was, Maes desperately didn’t want to know.

And it didn’t matter that Roy was wrong. Maes could sit here and promise nothing bad was going to happen all he liked; it wouldn’t change what Roy believed. Roy honestly believed he was going to be punished for this, and no matter how heartbreakingly _wrong_ that was, Maes was left with just two options:

He could do the sensible thing, tell Roy no, and then have Roy spend the rest of the night in an ever worsening state of fear and distress with Maes too nervous to sleep as he listened to make sure his friend didn’t try and sneak out on his own or, god forbid, sneak right back out the window again.

Or.

He could take Roy outside, and use it as probably the only way that he had to maybe, just maybe, calm him down again.

Roy continued to stare at him wordlessly, black eyes still stricken and fearful but lit with that tiny flame of hope, and Maes groaned.

God damn it.

“Okay,” he said, meeting Roy’s eyes.

It was almost painful, the effect that that one quiet, simple word had. Almost immediately his best friend started to unfurl, sitting up straight from the withdrawn slump he’d collapsed onto the bed in abject joy. He started to smile again, face lighting up, even reaching a shaking hand out as if to touch him. The quietly resigned, haunted despair that had shadowed his face this whole time rolled back like he’d flipped a switch, and for a moment, he looked so honestly _happy_ Maes almost could not stand it.

“No alchemy,” he burst out with, forcing himself to say it before Roy could get too carried away. He wasn’t budging on this and if Roy wouldn’t agree to the rule, he wasn’t letting him leave the room. “Okay? I’m sorry, Roy, but no alchemy. Understand?”

But Roy didn’t even hesitate to nod back, bobbing his head up and down eagerly as he again tried to struggle to his feet, latching on to the edge of his bed and then the wall without regard for how much it had to hurt his hands. “Okay,” he said quickly, over and over again, “okay, okay. No alchemy. Promise. Okay.” He grinned unabashedly again, not looking at Maes but still focused only on the door, reaching for it like a child with a new toy.

Maes clenched his jaw, trying very hard to ignore how wrong this was or the growing knot of worried tension in his stomach, the knot that said this was going to end _badly,_ and just got to his feet to follow.

Luckily for them, it was very late at night. While during the day, such an escapade would’ve been impossible, Maes was hopeful they’d be able to slip out at this time of night and not be seen. He wasn’t taking Roy up to the roof, or down to the first floor to actually leave- never mind it didn’t seem as if Roy would be able to handle it mentally; he probably wouldn’t even be strong enough to make it all the way there. But, there _was_ a balcony on this floor he’d seen some of the nurses smoking on earlier. If he could just get Roy over there, just for a few minutes, maybe he’d calm down. Maybe he’d feel better.

He _hoped,_ at least.

Of course, now he just had to actually get Roy out into the hall.

Roy had balked upon actually reaching the door, the hand reaching for the knob dropped as he stumbled backwards like a startled, wounded animal. His face had lost all color again, draining bone white while he started at the plain door in frozen, nervous terror, trembling on the spot and almost physically unable to make himself reach out to open it. As saddening as it was, Maes could guess what had him like this; the way he flinched every time the door opened, becoming silent and submissive the moment anybody but Maes stepped inside- well, it wasn’t hard to figure out.

Once again, rather than accept the sign that this was a _bad idea_ and not something Roy was ready for, Maes steeled himself, wanting only to bring back someone sign of the eager, hopeful man just begging him to go outside, and moved around him to open the door.

He peered carefully into the dim hallway, searching up and down it for any sign of habitation in what almost felt like a stealth mission, but the time of night again worked to his favor. The secluded, a little out of the way hallway was entirely, perfectly deserted, to the point that Maes couldn’t even hear anybody else working around the corner or in the other rooms. They were alone.

And, best of all, Maes could see the locked door to the balcony, just at the end of the hallway.

“Coast’s clear, Roy,” he called quietly, unable to help a tiny thrill of anticipation. He felt almost like the stupid teenagers they’d been back in the Academy trying to sneak around past curfew, and he kept that image in his mind even as he turned back to his best friend, refusing to let it collide with the thin, fearful, trembling figure before him. It hurt too much to try and reconcile that tortured man with his best friend so he just _didn’t._

“Come on,” he coaxed gently again, managing to get him to take just enough of a step forward so he could look outside for himself, seeing there was nothing out there to be afraid of.

He still lingered as far back as he could, dark eyes wide as they darted around the hallway, searching for danger in what almost looked like cold dread, small and pale and terrified.

Once again, Maes realized that if he didn’t take the lead here, he really might just be left standing here for the rest of the night, waiting for Roy to work up the courage to just step outside.

This was a bad idea. This was a stupid, stupid, _bad_ idea, it was something an idiot teenager would think was great but that Maes was old enough to know was _not._ If Roy didn’t feel safe enough to even risk going out into the hallway, trying to get him all the way down to the balcony and back was going to end in disaster. _Especially_ after everything else that had already happened tonight- no, _no;_ Maes had no choice now, not at all. He needed to take Roy with him straight to the nurse’s station, tell them about the broken window, and let that be final. There was no conceivable way this was ever going to end well.

Another look at his best friend, though, still staring at the hallway with an open mix of dread and _longing,_ Maes knew he didn’t have it in him to take the hope of going outside away.

So, once again banishing all such thoughts to the very back of his mind, Maes carefully took Roy’s arm, supporting him as much as he had to, and all but forced him into moving, step by step, into the hallway.

Roy, once again, froze.

“...See?” Maes asked after several moments, pointing down towards the balcony again. “Down there. Think you can make it, buddy?” He waited through a breath, just watching Roy, then very carefully reached out to touch his shoulder again. “It’s just a hallway, buddy,” he coaxed gently. “No one here but us. _Nothing_ you need to worry about; not at all. Okay...?” He took a few steps back to hold his hand out, trying to cajole Roy out to join him like he might a wounded animal out of its cage. “Just us, buddy,” he promised again, voice hoarse and catching, and held still.

Roy, still wide-eyed and panting, now, did not move.

_Come on, Roy, just focus, please. Look around you, it’s just a hallway... come on, please... you can do this..._

It took a few more moments for his best friend to move again. Whether it was his words that had gotten through to him, or the obvious expectation of Maes waiting for him out in the hallway, unable to just not receive an answer, or even just his overriding desire to go outside, he didn’t know- but, finally, his trembling friend took a deep breath, and followed him out into the hall.

Roy got no chance to relax and get used to breeching the walls of their room for the first time, however.

He stiffened once again almost immediately, but this time, it wasn’t out of any imagined fears waiting for him out here but just the simple sight of their goal waiting for them, on down the hallway. Some of the cold terror in his eyes flickered instantly away with the hope and longing again to just be able to go outside, and suddenly he was straining against Maes’ hand, stumbling away like his life depended on it. “Of- of course. Of course,” he babbled eagerly, eyes almost eerily bright. “Of course.” He stumbled a step further, scarred hand shaking against the wall- and white, gaunt face still lit with joy like a child’s.

Maes’ heart ached again, and it took more willpower than he wanted to admit, for him to get himself moving to follow after him.

Maes kept a close watch on his friend, and was entirely unsurprised when even the short walk down the hallway proved to be too much for him. He was panting only a few steps down, leaning heavier and heavier against the wall, his agonizingly brittle and frail form shaking as he tried to make it- but he just couldn’t. He’d just lost too much weight to manage it.

 _The important thing,_ he reminded himself, breathing hard through clenched teeth, _is that he’s alive. Everything else is temporary. He’s alive. He’s still alive._

The mantra didn’t stop him from wanting to slam his fist through the bastards that had done this to his best friend, nor did it make him feel better in the slightest- but it did help him wipe his expression clean of the heartrending anger and just replace it with an easygoing smile. “Of course you can make it, buddy,” he chided warmly, unable to help a small teasing lilt to his voice, “but, if you don’t mind- just in case?” He carefully moved closer, looping Roy’s free arm around his neck and trying to balance his weight between him and the wall. “Just in case,” he said again.

The old Roy would’ve glared at him for the action alone. The old Roy would’ve muttered something annoyed about not being a child or needing help, then shoved him right off- even if it meant collapsing to the floor and being trapped there by his own stubbornness. The old Roy would’ve made a stubborn fool out of himself, and Maes, laughing, would’ve just dragged him back upright and forced him to accept the help anyway.

This Roy, however, just lowered his gaze down to the floor, bowing his head and shielding his pale face with long hair. He hunched over a small bit, withdrawing a little away from him in shame and humiliation, and said nothing at all.

At last, he just lifted his dark, unreadable gaze back up to focus on the balcony, and took another step forward.

Maes’ hopes fell, and somehow, he was sure he looked just as despondent as Roy did, as he kept on to lead him on to the outside.

The walk to the balcony was one that should’ve taken less than a minute, for anyone healthy and strong. Roy, however, needed to catch his breath after almost every small, shaking step; soon five agonizing minutes had passed and they were barely halfway there- and Roy was starting to slow down even more. He was obviously _exhausted_ , and it was becoming increasingly apparent to Maes he hadn’t had the freedom to move around this much in a while- maybe the entire six months he’d been gone. He was slowly starting to, again, rethink the wisdom of this entire venture, but by this point, what choice did he have? They were already over halfway there. It would take even longer for them to get back to his room from here, and now, after Roy had already come so far, obviously worked so _hard_ to make it to this point, Maes just didn’t have the heart to make him turn around and leave it behind. He knew Roy wouldn’t fight him if he did, because he was too wary and frightened to fight any of them anymore, but that wasn’t the point; Maes just couldn’t bear even the _thought_ of the miserable, heartbroken look on his best friend’s face, if he tried to turn him around now. No. _No._ His only choice was just to keep supporting Roy along and try desperately hard to ignore how increasingly difficult each step was for his friend- and hope that he could make it.

Because Maes really didn’t know what he would do if he couldn’t.

Finally, just perhaps a minute away from his precious break at freedom, Roy stopped.

“...R- buddy?” Maes started softly, alarm pounding in his chest. Had it been too much for him after all? Was he just going to collapse right here in the middle of the hallway? “Hey, buddy, are you okay?” He started to move around to try and meet his eyes, standing in front of him and moving his hand from his arm to a cold, bony shoulder.

Roy just wordlessly stared straight past him, saying nothing, his face utterly expressionless.

And then, like a moth to a flame, he pulled away from Maes, and instead lurched to the other side of the hallway.

“B-buddy?” Maes stared at him, reaching a helpless hand out as his best friend swerved away, stumbling almost drunkenly across the hallway at a right angle to what their destination was supposed to be. “Hey, where are you-“

Roy dragged himself another step forwards, and this time, hit his new destination of the floor’s vending machines.

Oh.

Maes couldn’t help but let out a soft, shaky, relieved laugh, dropping his hand to watch in what was almost amusement as Roy stumbled against the glass, using it to hold himself up as he stared at the snacks within. The faint electric lighting cast his washed out skin and gaunt face in an almost eerie, sickly sort of glow, drawing out the contrast between his unhealthy complexion and midnight hair even worse, but Roy clearly didn’t give a damn how he looked as he pushed a hand against the glass, staring hungrily at treats of sugar and fat trapped behind it.

Maes started to smile again, his hopes rising. “What, do you want something?” he asked, still taking care to keep his voice down, and dropped a hand into his pocket to hunt for change. He knew he wasn’t really _supposed_ to... the doctors were being careful with what they gave him, always small, horrible looking meals to try both to get him to gain some desperately needed weight back and not to shock his stomach- but, hell, what harm could a single midnight snack do? Besides, it’d be the first time since being rescued Roy had actually _wanted_ to eat something!This could only be a good thing, Maes thought, and he beamed with relief as Roy continued to run his hand down the glass, staring with rapt attention and longing towards what he had so long been denied.

“Hang on, step back a second,” Maes told him, moving closer again as he looked down to dig in his pockets. “Don’t have any change, but I’ve got a knife... maybe I can-“

_Clunk._

Maes blinked, staring back up.

And found himself treated to the sight of Roy, struggling to get down to his knees and still grappling with the vending machine for support, to reach in and take his stolen prize of a chocolate bar out.

“You...” he started, staring in surprise. “How...?”

Roy didn’t answer him, just pressed the candy bar to his face and beamed, almost radiating an innocent sort of satisfaction at his find. Again, there was a disturbing mix of childlike pleasure tainted by a very adult pain and need on his sallow, gaunt face, a thrilled smile that almost turned Maes’ stomach.

It wasn’t until Roy forewent even trying to open it with with ruined hands, instead tearing into the wrapper with his teeth, that Maes saw the newly opened injury on his arm, and realized how he’d gotten it in the first place.

One of the bandages was slowly dyeing red again.

One of those that covered the numerous mutilations of arrays he’d cut straight into his own skin.

His eyes widening, Maes turned back to stare at the vending machine. His heart dropped back into his stomach.

Roy had _melted_ the silver ring holding the candy bar that he’d wanted. Rather than just wait two seconds for Maes, Roy had carelessly opened up the shocking wounds on his arm yet again, forcing himself to bleed, and melted the damn thing- all just so he could get at the candy bar.

Once again, it wasn’t very hard to guess why Roy would’ve been just so desperate to get at it, and rather than get angry at him, he found himself having to clench his jaw and steel himself against yet another wave of sadness.

“Oh,” Roy said suddenly from the floor, voice muffled from around a mouthful. The colonel looked up at him, still smiling, still bright-eyed, and proffered up his ill-gotten gains at him. “I’m sorry. Did you want me to get you one as well, M-... what?”

“It’s...” Maes swallowed tightly, trying to wipe the stricken horror off his face. He shook his head, trying for a smile, but it felt weak and pathetic even to himself. “No, it’s nothing. It’s nothing, Roy.” He smiled again down at his friend, his friend who was just sitting on the floor and staring up at him in outright confusion, head tilted to the side-

And then, once again like a switch was flipped, that childlike innocence was gone, and in it’s place was sheer _terror._

The blood drained from his face. The confusion in his eyes melted away, vanishing to burst into a cold, heartwrenching fear as his breath left him in a deep, terrified gasp, hands jerking in the air. The candy bar, barely even started on, fell to the floor with a weak, soft clatter.

And again, just like a child, Roy curled up tight, his back to the vending machine and face pressed to his knees.

That his head was already almost completely covered, protected, by his shaking, scarred arms, told Maes what exactly Roy thought was going to happen next.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, the words still muffled into his knees, tiny and frightened. “I’m s-so... sorry. I didn’t- mean to- I w-wasn’t- I wasn’t thinking, M-Maes, I’m sorry-“

“What...?” His heart in his throat, Maes took a small step forward, unable to help but reach out to him in panic. “Buddy, what’s wrong?” Just ten seconds ago everything had been _fine,_ but now- now he wasn’t even on the verge of falling apart, he’d _already_ just fallen apart right in front of him. And _why?_ What had happened; what had he done wrong? “Buddy, I-“

“I’m s- _sorry,”_ he gasped out again, high-pitched and nearly hysterical with the strain of it. “I know y-you said- s-s-said- _no alchemy._ You said- that’s what you said, I-... I’m sorry... I wasn’t thinking; it wasn’t on purpose, Maes, I- I promise...!”

_...Oh._

_Oh, god._

It was only a testament to just how used to this newly skittish, fragile version of his best friend Maes had gotten, over these past several days, that he simply swallowed back the horrified, desperate apology, and instead just got down to his knees to sit next to him.

Though he hadn’t said anything, Roy still flinched violently away, head still buried protectively in his knees. Maes hadn’t yet figured out how much of that was instinct, and how much was that Roy honestly, consciously believed Maes was about to hit him.

God, Maes hadn’t even remembered the no alchemy rule. He’d only said it in the first place because Roy’s alchemy was lethal, and in his current, easily startled- easily _frightened-_ state, it would’ve only been too easy for them to run into a nurse and for Maes to find himself tackling Roy out of a firefight. He didn’t care about the stupid vending machine. Sure, maybe he wished Roy had just waited rather than opening up the cuts on his arm again, making himself bleed like it didn’t even _matter,_ but he’d barely even been angry. As ecstatic as he’d been to have Roy actually willingly eating something, he sure as hell hadn’t been about to even lecture him over the manner he’d obtained it.

He _never_ would’ve hit him for it. No matter the circumstances, no matter what Roy had done, he couldn’t imagine _ever_ being angry enough to hit him ever again.

But Maes had also learned, just over these past several days, that saying as such wouldn’t do a damn thing to help Roy calm down now.

So, he didn’t say anything at all.

He just sat there next to him on the cold floor, watching him shiver with his face hidden and bury the occasional startled, terrified whimper in his knees. There was nothing he could say, so he didn’t even try; there was nothing he could do, because trying to touch his hand or put an arm around him would get him to jump so badly he tore his stitches. Maes knew, because it had already happened twice. He sat there and waited silently for Roy to calm down- no matter how much it hurt his heart to do it.

He just felt completely and utterly helpless. Maes couldn’t stand to see another human being suffer like this; it just wasn’t in his nature. He took care of people. That was what he was best at. He took care of people, and sitting here, watching as his _best friend_ shook in abject terror next to him, unable to say so much as a word of comfort to try and help him, unable to do _anything_ to make him better, for the second time tonight-!

He was useless. He was worthless.

And he _hated_ it.

But there was nothing else that he could do.

Finally, when the tremors had at last slowed to only periodic jerks, and the whimpers had died out entirely, Maes picked the candy bar up off the floor. Hopefully, he nudged it at Roy’s tense hand.

Roy still didn’t move.

Maes sighed, heart still lodged painfully in his throat. He took another breath, forcing his voice to at very least not to crack, and pulled it away. “Milk chocolate,” he read quietly. “Roy, you loser. Everyone knows dark chocolate is better.” He broke the bar in half with an audible _snap,_ just loud enough that Roy would hear it even though he wouldn’t see it. Regretfully, Maes looked down at his half, the half he didn’t even want; Roy needed it so much more than he did- but there was no chance he would take any of it at all if he didn’t do this. So, again swallowing his misgivings, Maes shook his head at himself, then popped it back into his mouth.

This time, when he nudged the candy bar at Roy’s hand, it still took him a couple seconds- but finally, one cold, thin, shaking hand unfurled, and two fingers blindly reached out to accept the candy back.

Once again, it was quiet for a while. His best friend slowly lifted his head back up just enough to peer around at the calm, deserted hall around them, dark eyes darting back and forth as if he didn’t quite believe it was safe. Maes forced himself not to notice. No; rather than look at Roy and try and face him now when he already knew how much it would _hurt_ to see him sitting there trembling and stricken like a beaten animal, he just continued to ignore it all, to pretend that there was nothing abnormal about this whatsoever. What? Two grown men sitting on the floor in the middle of the night? One badly injured and bleeding and hurt, shaking so badly he looked _terrified?_ What was abnormal about that? Nope; everything was totally normal here.

He listened as, carefully, agonizingly slowly, Roy broke off a tiny square with his teeth. Once again, it went quiet save for the soft, barely audible sounds of Roy eating.

“...I’m sorry,” Roy mumbled at length again, soft and subdued.

Maes sighed, his heart clenching painfully again. “Don’t be.”

But Roy shook his head a little, evidently not satisfied with how much he was suffering already and wanting to make himself hurt even more. “N-no... I... you shouldn’t have to _do_ this,” he finished with a frustrated sigh. “I... you didn’t even do anything and I j-just... lost it.”

At those quiet, self-loathing words, Maes just couldn’t help it anymore. He leaned a little closer, carefully dropping a steadying arm around his shoulders, and when Roy didn’t flinch away drew him even closer to his side, just unable to stop himself from trying to protect him. Even if now, he could only protect him from himself. “No,” he agreed softly. “I shouldn’t have to do this. But, you shouldn’t have had to go through this, either.”

He didn’t get a response to this, either.

So, Maes just waited, listening while Roy slowly devoured his half of the chocolate bar with tiny bites, cold and shivering under his arm the entire time. He seemed calmer than before, but only just, and his earlier longing and excitement to run for the balcony was now completely gone.

Finally, the candy was gone, and Roy let his hand lower weakly back down to the floor. He at least hadn’t shrugged Maes’ arm off, though Maes wasn’t sure if that was because Roy still wanted the security and safety of it- or if he was just too wary and traumatized to try and push him off, no matter how much he didn’t want it.

Maes didn’t know which possibility unsettled him more.

“...Buddy?” he asked at last, when the candy was gone and they’d been sitting there in a silence broken only by his friend’s raspy breaths for at least five minutes. “You still want to go outside?”

Roy hesitated for a moment.

Then, his head still turned away, eyes down, curled up a little more almost as if he was hesitant to admit it, worried he wasn’t even _allowed_ to want something or what would happen to him if he said yes, he nodded.

Maes sighed heavily again. The arm still around Roy’s shoulders felt heavy, heavy and wrong, somehow, with how thin and cold the figure under it was, and he once again had to take a moment to push back his sickened, enraged nausea before he nodded back. “Let’s go, then.” He pushed up to his knees, then, after rising to his feet, turned back around to offer Roy his hands.

Roy still wouldn’t look at him. Maes would’ve been more bothered, if he hadn’t gotten so chillingly used to it.

Roy’s hands were freezing in his, and he tried not to think about how horrifyingly glaring the bones were as he hauled Roy up to his feet again, being absolutely sure not to overbalance and accidentally drop him while the same time not gripping his injured hands too hard. It was clear both of them were tired now, much worse than before, and Maes knew he was going to have to be careful as he once again looped a gentle arm around Roy’s waist again. On one hand, this was still going relatively well, at least... this was the first time Roy had worked up the courage and motivation to at least leave the hospital room. This was the first time he’d actually been excited about eating something. And despite the earlier snag- well, god, he’d actually been able to _calm down._ Based off his experiences these past couple days, sometimes, even that was asking too much, and the nurses had ended up sedating him just so he wouldn’t panic his way into a heart attack.

Yes, on one hand, everything _was_ going really well... almost amazingly, in fact.

On the other, it was almost heartbreaking how low his standards had gotten, to be able to say that, and he knew they were still just one wrong move from this spiraling completely out of control and ending very, very badly.

And with that mind, Maes at last got them to the balcony door.

This time, he noted, Roy made absolutely no move to try and melt the lock out of his way, even though he already knew the alchemist was capable of it.

He didn’t even raise his head to look at the door. He just stood there silently next to him, shoulders hunched, head down, and eyes on the floor.

Once again, Maes looked away very quickly.

“Hang on,” he muttered, drawing his push-knife out once again. It only took him a couple seconds to force the door open, and he hurriedly slipped his knife back into his pocket again. Then, quickly propping the door open with his heel, he turned back around to try and help Roy, both mentally and physically, over this last threshold.

He needn’t have even worried.

Because Roy had already lurched away from his arms and, with all the hesitancy and wide-eyed fear of a baby bird breaking free of its nest but the joy of spring after an interminable winter, his best friend broke away from him and, without needing even a single word of encouragement, stepped outside.

It was a tiny balcony, only there just to give some room for hospital staff to smoke without potentially disturbing patients. There was barely enough space for just the two of them. But Roy stepped out onto that tiny balcony like it was everything he’d ever wanted and stood there, shivering hard already in the only mildly cool night and hugging himself- staring out over the dimmed city and smiling.

He was already smiling.

And when Maes saw that, for the first time all night long, he finally relaxed.

This wasn’t going to be a trainwreck after all.

He carefully followed Roy outside, not his friend paid any attention to him whatsoever, still clutching onto the ledge with desperate hands and running them over every surface he could reach. He nearly _purred_ at the feel of the slight wind, stretching again and tilting his head back to beam joyfully at the sky, pale face almost eerily ecstatic in the night.

After a long moment, Roy tilted his head back even further, just enough to meet Maes’ eyes behind him; he grinned even broader. “I think I’m high,” he informed him steadily, face still stretching into a smile, then whipped back around to continue pawing all over the balcony.

Maes couldn’t help a small, amused laugh, leaning back against the wall to watch him. “You might be, you know.”

But Roy just shook his head dismissively, still pacing hyperactively through the tiny space. “No, I was only tired earlier. The stuff they give me always just makes me tired. Now I feel high.” He let out another high-pitched, tiny burst of laughter and pressed himself against the railing, still shivering in the breeze but now entirely unbothered by it in the face of this newfound freedom. “I- I feel-... _good._ I feel good, Maes! I’d- I’d forgotten-...” He trailed off, shaking his head with a frustrated frown, then just spun around to return to the railing indeed. “How ridiculous is that; I’d forgotten what this felt like! To feel _good!_ Maes- Maes, I am a _trainwreck._ ” He laughed again, jerking a shaky hand through his matted hair, wrecking through the tangles and unusual length, face still split by a smile. “A fantastic, happy trainwreck.”

Maes’ heart stuttered painfully in his chest, and he found himself almost grateful in that moment that Roy’s back was turned, so he wouldn’t see the look on his face.

“...Well, if you’ve got to be a trainwreck, I’m glad you’re a happy one,” he said at last, fighting with everything he had to force a weak grin. If he thought about it, it wasn’t even that much of a lie.

Roy slumped into a corner now, stretching out like the uncomfortable railing at his back was a couch to meet Maes’ eyes once again. He looked almost disturbingly amused as he tilted his head back to lean almost dangerously against the railing, frighteningly at ease and with just a sheer _lack_ of self-awareness of how easy it’d for him to just slip and fall to the ground below.

Maes bit his tongue, struggling not to shiver at the sight, and held himself back. It was fine. It didn’t matter. This wasn’t like before in the hospital room, when Roy had nearly stepped outside into thin air. Roy was lucid now, fully aware of where he was, and what was more already seemed quite content with his current position- he had no reason to take another step closer to the edge.

Unbidden, his eyes flickered to the bandages all over Roy’s arms, focusing on the one still stained red from his earlier behavior, and Maes’ smile fell.

Sure, he had no real reason to test the boundaries even further and get even closer to the edge.

But, in Roy’s mind...

He might have no reason _not_ to, either.

This time, Maes couldn’t stop himself from drawing a little closer, and one hand inched out to rest just close enough to reach out and grab him if need be.

But Roy stepped in time with him, slipping a foot back to lean even more casually back with the added distance between them. He didn’t even look like he’d realized he’d been doing it, just that it was instinct to step away when Maes moved within reach; his smile didn’t falter, and he even looked a little more relaxed with the distance. He just sent Maes another bold grin, a strange grin that was unsettling the way it was so broad and genuine on a gaunt, exhausted face, and Maes once again had to resist shivering.

After several long moments, the colonel let out a heavy sigh, albeit one that had no affect on his beaming grin. Bracing himself, he started to slide back down against the railing to sit on the rough concrete, thin arms shaking with the strain of it but that eerie smile never once departing no matter the pain he had to be in. “I think I may have to move out here,” he declared, voice trembling slightly. “Unless I want to crawl back, that is.”

Maes raised an eyebrow, some of his forced carelessness about this venture beaten back as he looked over his friend. He didn’t look any more unwell than he did usually, these days, but given how terrible that baseline really was... “If you’re tired, maybe we should-“

“Maes,” Roy interrupted, giving him a look. “I’m quite serious. If you want to go back inside, you’re either going by yourself or dragging me, because I can’t make it all the way.”

After a long moment spent still evaluating him, making sure Roy wasn’t hiding anything at all about his health, Maes just sighed back, dropping to sit himself. “And you look so awfully torn up about that.”

It wasn’t quite a smirk, the expression that crossed Roy’s face then, but still so tantalizingly close and painfully familiar his heart leapt.

In all honesty, Roy was too tired to make it back; well, Maes was too tired to support his friend all the way back to the room, as well. He knew they’d have to return at some point; they’d tried not to be obtrusive about it, but by the way a nurse still seemed to always stick her head in the room at least every half hour, he knew his best friend was still technically on suicide watch, and when they checked in and found them both gone would probably be alarmed. But at this point, that just wasn’t Maes’ concern. Roy _wasn’t_ suicidal- he firmly believed that, he _had_ to believe that, god, that was the only positive he had anymore but it was true- but even that regardless, right now, he wasn’t very intent on dragging his friend back inside.

After all, this was the happiest that Maes had seen him.

As far as Maes was concerned, it really wouldn’t be all that bad if Roy _did_ move out here.

They sat together for a long while in silence, Maes making sure to keep an eye on Roy and watching out for the temperature and his other open wounds. Roy obviously didn’t care about his state, but Maes, even though he’d condoned a whole lot this evening that he probably shouldn’t have, at least wasn’t going to just sit here and watch him get sick. He seemed all right though, not shivering much worse than Maes was; even the bleeding on his arm had stopped.

The smile never left, either, and the longer it stayed, the easier it was for Maes to pretend that everything was back to normal now, because it was here to stay.

“Sorry,” Roy told him casually after a while, giving him another look. He tucked his hands behind his head and leaned back again, staring eagerly up at the sky and drinking it in, the enraptured look on his face still telling him just how much his friend was enjoying this. “I know I’m being quite... unnerving. ...It’s really not on purpose, Maes.”

Maes clenched his jaw, lowering his gaze to the floor rather than follow Roy’s skyward. “I already told you, buddy, you don’t have to apologize for anything. However you need to work through this-“

“But it’s true,” he interrupted easily. “I know I’m acting odd... I know you’re only trying to help me, and that I’m not really making that easy for you.” Roy paused, head lolling loosely on his shoulders as he continued to stare up at the sky, his expression almost thoughtful- which, at least, was better than the guiltstricken one he’d been ready for when Roy had first apologized. “I don’t know... it feels like I’m just in shock, I guess. You know?” He waved a hand in the air, one of his mangled, scarred hands, two fingers missing; Maes’ heart squeezed painfully, stomach twisting at the sight, but Roy just continued on, not even bothered in the slightest. “This, how I feel now, reminds me of when my parents died. I didn’t understand what it was at the time, you know, I was just a dumb kid, but, I understood what had happened, on some level, but then I just... didn’t. I was just in shock, for a long time. I think it feels the same now... like-“ He made a frustrated face, frowning a little, “like this is the real world, now, and everything that happened before this just- isn’t. Like I just took a really long nap and had a fucked up really long fever dream, and that’s all. It doesn’t feel... it’s hard to actually grasp that all as... real.”

It was very unsettling, Maes thought, that Roy was still smiling.

After several quiet, uncomfortable moments, his friend rolled his head back down to look at him past his hair, eyes a little unfocused and smile closer to unhinged than genuine. “And now I’m rambling on about my _feelings?_ Told you I was high,” was all he said, matter of factly and steady, then leaned his head back again to stare up at the sky.

It wasn’t all that reassuring anymore that this was still the best had been since being rescued.

There was something just... _off,_ about the entire thing. Roy, but not. Not at all the Roy he remembered, and not at all something that he thought might mark recovery, either. Sure, he wasn’t the despondent, silent figure that had haunted the hospital room for the past few days, or the meekly submissive, traumatized man that had flinched anytime someone had so much as looked at him, but this...

it was just _wrong._ Roy acting so cavalier and calm, like this was all just normal, grinning at him as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Meanwhile he was sitting there on a tiny hospital balcony, thin and shaking, plastered in bandages all over his arms while his ruined, broken hands still patted about aimlessly, touching everything he could as if to prove to himself it was all real. He looked _awful._ Worse than Maes could’ve ever imagined his best friend looking in his life, bad enough that if he actually took a second to just look at him it nearly turned his stomach. The relief that Roy was alive, very strong the first couple days after being found, had all but worn out its welcome, now; now he was able to look at him without that obscuring it and- and _god._

He wanted to kill someone. He wanted to pull Roy into his arms and never let him go. He wanted to fucking _strangle_ whoever hurt his best friend so badly he’d treat half a chocolate bar and a cramped, freezing hospital balcony as the best night of his life. He- he-

“This is why you’re not allowed to leave, you know,” Roy spoke up calmly, voice small and just a little slurred in the night. He tipped his head back further, shutting his eyes. “While you’re here, it’s safe. I don’t have to think about it. So, that’s why you’re not allowed to leave me alone, Maes.”

Maes clenched his jaw again, stomach flip-flopping and eyes stinging with the sudden burn of tears, and looked away.

Yes, he thought, Roy was most definitely still effected by whatever heavy drugs he’d been given earlier. He never would’ve spoken like this otherwise.

Never would’ve been that honest, and said things Maes couldn’t stand to hear.

“...Don’t worry, buddy,” he managed at last, voice only a little weak from being forced through the lump in his throat. “I won’t.”

Roy leaned slitted his eyes half-open for a moment, peering at him to look almost like a great cat. A great, malnourished, beaten cat. Then, smirking, he reached out and wrapped a hand in Maes’ shirt, tugging rather ineffectually to get him to move; Maes, somewhat startled, pushed himself closer only to have Roy land against his side the moment he was close enough for it, leaning his head against shoulder and poking at his chest with one steady finger. “You’re doing that thing again,” he informed him tiredly. “You tell me not to guilt about things, but then you go and do it yourself.” He closed his eyes, settling more firmly against his shoulder with a still exhausted smile pulling on his lips, then chuckled quietly. “Everything’s fine. No sense crying over spilled milk; come on- you’re the optimist here, aren’t you? Weren’t you always the one chattering on about there was no point in being all sad and guiltridden over what can’t be changed?” He laughed quietly again, those this time the sound was tinged with sadness, and the cheek pressed against his shoulder shifted as Roy slipped further downwards, curling into himself. “...I missed that a lot. I imagined... well, I imagined- lots of things. Sometimes, they actually seemed real. But I imagined that a lot... you being your usual idiot self, and making me cheer up just because you’re too much of a nice idiot for your own good.” He went quiet for a moment, still leaning sleepily against his shoulder, and his voice went even smaller, weighed down by a simple honesty brokered no room for deceit. “I’d... I never have thought that I’d... that I’d miss that, Maes.”

Maes’ stomach once again tightened, the open vulnerability in those words muffled against his shoulder and making his heart clench, and found himself squeezing his eyes shut just so he wouldn’t have to see the impossible sight.

It was just the drugs. It was his exhaustion. It was his earlier breakdown- breakdowns? How many times had he nearly broken down tonight alone-? It was any combination of those things. That was all that had loosened his tongue. That was it.

This time, Maes wasn’t able to steady his voice enough to risk talking when he dropped his arm back down around shivering shoulders, pressing Roy even closer to his side in silence.

“...You’re a little more than spilled milk, Roy,” he said at last, throat still tight.

For a long moment, Roy didn’t answer.

Then, shivering even harder than before, he turned to muffle a tiny, choked back cry into his shoulder.

Maes stiffened at the sound, then had to bite back a gasp when Roy’s smaller, colder form was suddenly shaking under his arms. He was trembling now, out of nowhere his emaciated body just shaking badly and this time it had nothing to do with the cold. “B-buddy,” Maes started weakly, trying to adjust his hold him, see what he’d done wrong. “Are you okay...? I’m- I’m sorry, I-“

Roy shifted a little more, clutching at his shirt with a trembling, ruined hand to collapse against him for balance, whimpering and restraining another high-pitched cry, hiding his face inhis shoulder. He moved, moved just enough for Maes to catch a glimpse of his expression.

His eyes widened.

Roy was laughing.

His broad smile was back full blown, pale face radiating ecstatic humor that he was trying to muffle but failing rather completely at it. He was clenching his jaw and pressing his face into Maes’ shoulder but the tiny cries kept escaping through- cries that he only know recognized as _laughter._

“Y-you’re...” Roy gasped, trembling even harder, “you’re such an... an _idiot..._ you are a cheesy, s-sappy idiot... milk? M-milk? Maes. How touching! I’m- I’m m-more than spilled m-m-milk-? Maes-“ He shook his head vigorously as if trying to get a hold of himself but still failed, the motion ended in his friend just ducking back against him and choking out another strangled laugh. “You _sap...”_

And then he was laughing too hard to talk, gasping for every breath and trembling so much it felt like he was falling apart against him. He just sat there laughing like a madman, cracking up over something that hadn’t even been that funny in the first place but it was like now that he’d started, he couldn’t stop, and had now just found himself helpless to do anything but just hold on.

Maes didn’t know whether to be relieved into laughter himself, or stricken silent with the shock of it.

Finally, his hands cold with unease, he just embraced Roy again and held him through each violent, jerky shudder of a laugh.

He tried to only focus on the fact that Roy was smiling, actually _laughing,_ clutching onto him like he might have months ago and grinning as if he didn’t have a care in the world. As long as that was all that he looked at this as, it was okay. _This_ was okay.

But then he’d look past that, and see that it wasn’t.

Sure, Roy was at least letting himself be held, not flinching away like he expected the gentle embrace to turn into blows. But whereas the old Roy would’ve only tolerated it with a glower, this one had not only initiated it but grasped him like his life depended on it. This one felt as heartbreakingly thin as a teenager in his arms, horrifyingly overjoyed just for the chance to eat a tiny piece of chocolate and freezing in what was only a mildly cold night; god, Maes could still feel his ribs and spine through his _shirt._

Sure, this Roy was smiling and laughing and to someone who didn’t know him, would’ve seemed completely okay. But Maes did know him, and when Maes looked down at Roy, his friend still clinging to him choking back gasps and tears of mirth into his shoulder, he didn’t look okay.

Not at all.

He looked like he had completely lost all control and had been left to drown, and was holding on to Maes for dear life because of it.

And laughing while he did it.

And it was still better than the alternative, so Maes didn’t call him out on it.

“Pretty sure you _are_ high, buddy,” he managed at last, managed when Roy had been laughing for minutes on end and silence didn’t seem to be doing anything to calm him, so maybe speaking would instead- and, god, his words did a worse parody than Roy’s at the moment of approaching normalcy but it was all he could _do,_ and he just lifted a hand to gently ruffle his hair.

Roy nodded jerkily once or twice, but was still breathing too hard to reply. Finally, when he’d caught some of his breath back, he mumbled, “Told you so,” and Maes wasn’t sure if he was more heartened or relieved when his voice was at least just a little calmer.

They waited together in silence again, Roy still shaking periodically against him with his head resting against his shoulder, his breaths heavy but no longer gasps. His dark eyes were half-lidded again, fingers slowly growing looser in his shirt as they fell with exhaustion.

Once again, Maes just held him through the silence.

They were both tired, by this point, but while Roy seemed perfectly content to close his eyes and never move again, Maes kept his open, unable to completely relax while feeling responsible for Roy like this. He knew nurses were going to come looking for them at _some_ point, and still, just because Roy seemed okay _now_ didn’t mean Maes wouldn’t put it past him to disappear if he fell asleep and leave him alone out here on the balcony and in a complete panic. He tried to still stay as calm and relaxed as he could, for Roy’s sake, but kept an eye out, letting him rest and hoping he might just fall asleep before this inevitably came to an end.

Finally, when Roy had been silent and still for many minutes now and the closest to relaxed that Maes had seen him since this nightmare had begun, Maes saw a nurse beginning to move on her rounds. It was off down the hallway, but he wasn’t surprised when she saw her moving to their currently empty room first- and then stopping dead the moment she’d stepped in the doorway.

Maes sighed deeply.

Seemed all good things did still have to come to an end.

“Hey,” he called softly, tightening his arms around him. “Buddy?”

Roy mumbled something under his breath, a little growl of annoyance, and turned his face a little more against him without speaking.

Maes’ throat tightened again, and his next words, once again, got caught in his throat.

Why couldn’t they just stay out here...? Why did he have to wake Roy up; why did he have to shake him out of what seemed to be the only moment even approaching happiness his friend had had in months?! Damn it-

 _Damn it,_ this wasn’t fair.

“Hey,” he forced out again, fighting just to not let his voice crack on the misery of it, “we’re... we’re going to need to-“

Maes found himself interrupted by voices down the hallway. They weren’t really that loud, but as attuned as he already was to what was going on he quit talking, trying to listen in on what was being said. Down the hall, the first nurse had now fetched another where they now both stood in the doorway, seeing two empty beds and the shattered glass of a window- and considering that he knew they still suspected Roy to be suicidal, probably assuming the very worst. He couldn’t hear what they were saying but knew it was only a little while before they were discovered. He needed to prepare Roy for this, and now, before-

Roy jerked violently. One moment, he was loose and limp, nearly dozing against his shoulder- and then the next-

Then the next, he had pushed back in a frightened, immediate shudder, pressing himself back against Maes and staring, wide-eyed, down the hallway.

Roy, too, had heard the nurses.

And now, he’d seen them.

The look on his face, nothing but sheer, white-faced terror, sent Maes’ heart back down to his stomach.

“Hey, hey, stop it- it’s okay. You- listen to me-“ He tightened his arms on Roy and pulled him further away from the hall, trying to anchor him, make him realize he was safe. “Roy-“

A panicked, horrified whimper emerged from Roy’s throat. Just out of nowhere, an instinctual cry like a wounded animal as he shrank back, shaking even harder now and starting to gasp, sucking in short, stricken breaths like a fish on land-

And loud enough for the nurses down the hall to hear them.

“Oh, god,” Maes mumbled, staring in horror between the suddenly steadily approaching nurses and his panicking best friend trembling in terror next to him. “Buddy- buddy, stop-“ He pushed himself forwards, shifting in between Roy and the nurses so those wide, terrified eyes could only meet his and grabbing him by the shoulders as if a physical anchor could stop him from losing it. “Listen to me. It’s only nurses- they just want to help you, okay? They’re not going to do anything to you. You’re safe now, remember? Nothing bad is going to happen to you...”

But Roy was gasping too hard to stop this time, eyes flickering in horror from him to the approaching nurses just down the hall. He shook his head once, twice, thin chest heaving and pale face stricken, mouth moving and tiny whimpers coming out like he wanted to say something but had been pushed somewhere beyond words, and Maes was left absolutely helpless to do anything but grip his shoulders tighter. God, this was even worse than before; Roy knew they’d done something wrong and thought he was about to be punished for it, and god only knew what sort of hell he equated punishment with in his mind- but this time it wasn’t just Maes that he was afraid of; this time he didn’t trust those nurses at all, had no reason to believe they _weren’t_ going to hurt him, and that-

“ _Come on,”_ Maes begged frantically, “please, buddy, just listen to me. Everything’s going to be okay, come on, you know that; remember, this is just a hospital, they’re not going to hurt you, R-“

Roy’s face contorted, twisting from distraught terror into tortured anguish, and then, without a second’s thought, he’d flung himself forward back into Maes’ arms.

“-don’t,” he was already whispering, choked and strangled and almost inaudible with the panic against his chest, “Maes, please... Maes, please, please don’t let them touch me. Please-“

“They won’t,” he swore instantly, voice cracking. God, he couldn’t _stand_ this... Tightening his arms around him, Maes pulled Roy even closer against his chest, pressing his dark head to his shoulder even as the man continued to whisper and gasp, muffling the words even further. “I promise you, Roy, they’re not going to-“

“I d-don’t want to hurt them, Maes, I don’t want do, I don’t, but if they touch me- I’ll- _I’ll-“_ His voice broke and with another strangled cry, the colonel burrowed himself further against him, clinging to his shirt and hiding his face. “Maes, please... please don’t let them touch me... I don’t want to hurt them, I don’t, but- _but..._ I can’t stop it... I- _“_

His voice, already small, abruptly choked off into nothing as emotion overcame him, thin body jerking through another violent convulsion. He whimpered again and just forewent speaking entirely, pressing his face back even closer to Maes, panic wrenching every last breath from him and doubling him over until he clutched as Maes for dear life.

And this time, Maes felt it before he saw it.

It had already started to heat up.

The cold night air around him wasn’t cold anymore. The heat was not to an unbearable level just yet but already, in the space of just five seconds, the night had gone from cold enough to shiver to uncomfortably hot- and Maes instantly knew just what exactly had happened.

His stomach lurching, he looked back down to Roy’s arms.

Through the thick bandages, he could already see the jagged, scarred outline of no less than _three_ of his arrays.

The outline marked in blood.

And, _fuck._

Suddenly, Maes understood just why Roy was begging so desperately to keep those nurses away from him.

He wasn’t just afraid for himself... he was afraid for _them._

Cold, terrified heartache collected in his throat, and for a long moment, Maes was too heartbroken to do anything but stare.

Finally, _somehow,_ he found his voice again, holding Roy tighter even as a hand started to inch around to clamp down on top of the arrays. Not yet... he couldn’t afford to startle him now; not yet... but if he had to stop him... “Listen to me,” he intoned again, desperately holding back even an inch of panic. “They’re not going to do anything to you. You don’t have to do that anymore- just- just calm down, buddy, okay? Just breathe; just listen to me. I won’t let anything happen to you. You don’t need-“

“I d-don’t want them near me,” Roy swore vehemently, but his voice was still choked and cracked and, to Maes’ horror, a fourth bandage started to soak through with startling lines of blood. “I don’t care, Maes, I don’t care what they want or what they’ll do, I just _don’t_ want them near me! I can’t stop it- please-“

“Buddy-“

There was a loud, wrenching sort of noise as the door was pulled back- and just like that, it was too late.

Both of the nurses were there.

“Lieutenant Colonel Hughes?” one asked, her expression uncertain and confused. “Colonel Mustang? Is everything all right?”

Roy’s pale, terrified face contorted again. Just one long moment of horrorstricken eyes and a face worn wretched and distraught with the cold, bleeding body against him jerked eerily, terrifyingly still.

Another array on his arm burst into bleeding.

And then, his face went completely blank, and Roy lurched backwards straight out of Maes’ arms again.

Towards the railing, and the two story drop below.

* * *

Once again, Roy ended up sedated, and Maes found himself somewhere so terrible between heartbroken sorrow and agonized relief it was sickening.

It was a sedative, one of the nurses had told him after Roy had quieted, not a hypnotic, so he was still awake, just calmer. Maes doubted her. Roy didn’t look calm at all. He just looked too shaken and dazed to be panicking anymore.

He didn’t say anything, because that was still better than before.

He tried not to think about the fact that he’d had to hold his best friend still as the needle was pushed under his skin because he would’ve thrown himself off a ledge if not. He tried not to think about just how _violently_ Roy had fought him- shoving at his arms, kicking at the nurses, and-

And not screaming, because the horrified sound coming from his mouth had somehow been too desperate, too tortured, to even call a scream.

Just a long, terrified wail, broken into a strangled, speechless whimper every time he’d had to break for air.

Drugged into a silent stupor, again loose and limp against him, but this time for reasons Maes couldn’t bear to think about, only then had he risked letting go of him.

Roy, once again, had whimpered.

Or tried to. He was pretty sure the soft, mumbled groan of protest had been some sort of whimper.

He hadn’t wanted Maes to go. Even in his drugged incoherent, almost drugged stupid state, Roy had remained just aware enough to know he hadn’t wanted Maes to go.

He and the nurses had gotten Roy back to their room in a very uncomfortable silence, the colonel’s fists wound in his shirt the entire time.

The nurses took them both to a different room than before. One that was nowhere near the hospital balcony, and didn’t have a window. Maes didn’t bother asking them why, or to reconsider. He doubted they would have, and at this point, he would probably sleep easier, too, knowing Roy didn’t have access to breakable glass or a ledge to throw himself off of.

Roy, even back in bed, and hovering somewhere near sleep, his face written with tension and strain and the shadows under his eyes deep, still didn’t let him go.

* * *

The next morning, when the colonel had finally blinked bleary, still glazed eyes open and found himself newly bandaged, newly drugged, and in a new room, this one with no window. he said nothing about it.

He said nothing at all, in fact.

All he did do was stare downwards, dark eyes turned away but face coloring with a hint of humiliated shame, and pull his ruined hands back away from Maes.

He never asked to go outside again.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A Quiet Headstone](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15584604) by [YAJJ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/YAJJ/pseuds/YAJJ)




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